


Hate Sex

by it_was_the_crepes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Orchestra, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Merlin (Merlin), Dom/sub, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, M/M, Miscommunication, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Punishment, Sharing a Room, Slow Burn, Top Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Top Arthur Pendragon/Bottom Merlin (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27722348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/it_was_the_crepes/pseuds/it_was_the_crepes
Summary: Merlin's in his last year of undergrad at conservatory and the new percussion fellow, Arthur Pendragon, is pushing all his buttons. It can't get worse than sporadic meetings during the semester, can it? Actually, it can, it turns out, when the conservatory orchestra goes on tour over New Years Eve.(Or, Merlin is a bratty sub and Arthur is a relentless dom.)
Relationships: Gwaine/Percival (Merlin), Gwen/Lancelot/Morgana (Merlin), Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Mordred/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 56
Kudos: 199





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the classical music Merthur AU that no one asked for but I created anyway :)))) the music is basically background to the angst and smut though.

The first time they meet, Merlin is practicing in the recital hall. It’s a small square room with big windows and great acoustics and he loves getting in there when no one is up yet (i.e. 9am) and warming up and then playing his favorite orchestral solos like Swan Lake and Salome. He’s playing the latter, eyes closed, when the front-of-house doors slam open and he hears someone say, “Bring the marimba and the other four bongos.”

Merlin’s eyes fly open and he stops playing mid-phrase and looks at the doors, which a fit blond guy is in the process of propping open. Legitimately fit, he’s wearing a black t-shirt that shows off his biceps and his ass looks amazing in his black skinny jeans. Merlin doesn’t remember seeing him before and vaguely assumes that he’s a new grad student. After acknowledging these details, he remembers that his practice session has been interrupted and, instead of considering that whoever this is might have booked the hall, he calls out, “Excuse me?” with the tone of someone who has been interrupted and doesn’t appreciate it.

The blond guy looks at him and Merlin feels suddenly pinned in place and very seen. “Sorry mate,” he says, his lips quirking into a half smile that Merlin would call an arrogant smirk. “We’ve got this hall reserved at nine thirty.”

Merlin doesn’t appreciate being called mate. He checks his phone, making the gesture bigger than it needs to be. “It’s nine twenty-eight.”

The blond guy’s smirk widens the tiniest bit. “I didn’t see that anyone else reserved the hall this morning,” he comments, lifting a bongo and carrying it toward the stage, and fuck his arms are gorgeous.

Merlin sucks his oboe reed, partly because he’s irritated and partly because he needs to not salivate right now. “Doesn’t mean you barge in here before your time and interrupt someone else’s practice. What if I was recording?”

“You weren’t,” points out the blond guy, setting the bongo down on the stage and pinning Merlin with his eyes again, which are the epitome of blue. Merlin thinks he might drown in them. “And anyway, if you were recording, you could just put the sign up outside. It’s not necessary to be an asshole right now, is it?”

Merlin feels called out, and pissed off, because now his phone is reading 9:29 and he just missed a minute of practice. “It’s not necessary to disrupt a practice session, is it?” he fires back, turning away from the intense blue gaze and playing a chromatic scale before going straight back into Salome. He turns back around to play one phrase tauntingly, for no other reason than to piss this guy off, and finds that he’s about two feet away, arms crossed and staring him down, which makes Merlin uncomfortably weak in the knees.

“There’s two ways we could do this,” the guy says, his voice far too soft for his body language. “You pack up and get out of the hall, or—”

A crash from the doorway interrupts him and he turns towards it, releasing Merlin from the piercing gaze that Merlin is starting to think incapacitates those who receive it. Merlin turns too, automatically, and sees Mordred, the freshman percussionist, staring in vague fright at a collection of wooden sticks on the floor. Behind Mordred someone bursts out laughing and Percival, another percussionist from Merlin’s year, comes into view.

“What the fuck Mordred,” Percival gasps.

“Sorry,” Mordred says, shooting a glance at the guy in front of Merlin. “I’m really sorry, Arthur, I don’t think I broke anything.”

“It’s fine.” Arthur, which is apparently his name, looks amused. “Good thing it wasn’t the bongos. I’ll just take you off marimba duty.” Mordred’s face falls and Percival laughs before pulling Mordred gently out of his way and pushing the marimba into the hall.

Merlin, in the face of so many percussionists, can’t really fight for his spot in the hall any longer, and besides it’s probably after 9:30 now so morally he can’t support such a fight, so he puts his reed in his mouth and starts taking his oboe apart. The movement attracts Arthur’s attention and he turns back to Merlin and points a finger in his face.

“Don’t mess with me, mate,” he says in a low, dangerous tone. “Next time I better not have to tell you to get out when we’ve booked this space.”

“Wow, I didn’t know they accepted bullies into this school,” Merin shot back around his reed.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I’m not a student. I’m the new percussion fellow.”

“Oh, whoop-de-doo, percussion fellow,” says Merlin, feeling out of his depth, because percussion fellow means basically the same as teaching fellow. “I suppose you think that means you can boss students around or whatever. Good luck, mate.” Definitely the wrong thing to say because Arthur’s face is darkening and his arms are fit enough that if he hits Merlin it will definitely hurt.

Thankfully Percival interrupts their exchange by calling out something about the marimba and Arthur moves out of Merlin’s space, meaning that Merlin can suddenly breathe again. He hadn’t realized he wasn’t breathing before. Fuck, why were all the hot boys always assholes? He packs up his oboe quickly, thinking that there’s a high possibility that he’ll come if Arthur threatens him again, and leaves without looking at anyone.

*

The second time is at the first orchestra rehearsal. Merlin is playing principal oboe for half of this concert, the half they’re rehearsing today, and he’s just sat down when he sees Arthur and Percival coming onstage. Percival grabs the bass drum mallet and Arthur sits down at the timpani, bending over to tune it. Merlin swallows, his mouth abruptly dry, because Arthur’s wearing a white v-neck t-shirt today and his collarbones and the hollow of his neck look like they belong to sex personified, and Merlin also wants to be forced into submission by his muscular arms if that’s okay with everyone. Merlin gulps from his water bottle and focuses on the music in front of him and on testing his reeds before he finds one that works.

“Hi Merlin,” says Morgana, passing him with her cello. They’re the same year and have been friends since day one when Morgana got so bored during freshman orientation that she fell asleep on his shoulder during the dean’s speech. Merlin waves, brightening, because he hasn’t seen her yet this semester.

“I was wondering when I’d have to see your face again,” he says, and she rolls her eyes and grins because that’s their dynamic.

“Ooh, new percussionist,” Morgana notes, looking over Merlin’s shoulder. “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

Merlin tries to act indifferent when he turns to look. “I guess. I didn’t really notice.”

“Bit of an ass though, I’ve heard,” she continues, and quirks a smile. “See you at break? Ciggy?”

Cigarettes are their horrible habit that they adopted from Gwaine, their best and worst friend, who sits in the back at the bottom of the trombone section because he can never be bothered to prepare for the seating auditions. Merlin doesn’t think he should smoke because it’s bad for your lungs, so he doesn’t actually inhale, which Gwaine calls a waste, but Gwaine is a waste so Gwaine doesn’t have much standing in that argument. Morgana and Merlin both agree that smoking is useful at parties that you can’t get out of attending but that you need to get a break from. Besides, smoking circles usually become weed circles, which are Gwaine’s happy place, and although Merlin has never yet been high because he doesn’t inhale weed either, he can always enjoy high Gwaine and Morgana.

When they’ve been rehearsing for an hour and the conductor calls a break, Merlin puts his reed in water and goes outside, where he finds Gwaine already puffing away. Gwaine pulls him into a hug and hands him his cigarette, and Merlin sucks a little into his mouth and blows out immediately.

“Hey!” Gwaine grabs the cigarette. “Wasteful piece of shit.”

Merlin laughs and leans against the concrete wall of the concert building. “Trombones sound really in tune tonight.”

Gwaine swats him. “That’s not me, that’s the others. And the tuba. And the whole trumpet section.”

“And the whole orchestra, right?” Morgana continues, arriving suddenly at Merlin’s side and apparently having guessed what the conversation was about. Gwaine scowls at her and runs his hand through his hair.

“Whatever, you don’t know what true beauty is,” he says, inhaling again and blowing the smoke out of his nostrils.

Merlin is about to answer when he catches sight of Arthur leaving the building with Mordred. Mordred is very close to Arthur and is beaming at him, and when Arthur stops and begins rolling a spliff, Mordred very obviously checks the percussion fellow out and licks his lips. Merlin feels his face heat up with a combination of jealousy and embarrassment at said jealousy.

Morgana is saying something about Wagner (the composer of one of the pieces they’re playing on this concert) being a shithead, and holding her own cigarette out to Merlin. Merlin takes it and Gwaine immediately says, “You know he’s just going to waste it, right?” Morgana laughs and at the sound Arthur looks over at them, his eyes locking on Merlin’s instantly. His expression changes from benign, at whatever Mordred was saying, to pissed, and he angles his body back to Mordred without a second glance at Merlin.

The taste of the cigarette in Merlin’s mouth turns to ash, which he thinks humorlessly is not an extreme transformation, and he hunches in a little on himself, grateful that Morgana and Gwaine are now arguing and that he doesn’t have to participate in the conversation. Part of him loves the aggression that was rolling off Arthur in waves at their first encounter, but the other part of him hates to be ignored. He’s not sure why he needs Arthur’s attention so badly (well, other than how fit Arthur is and how much Merlin would love to be fucked against a wall by him) and he feels like that’s impossible now, especially given that Arthur and Mordred are…

Are sharing a spliff. Are kissing.

Merlin stares, his stomach and spine igniting with a series of sharp drops and sparks as he watches Arthur tilt his head and practically devour Mordred’s mouth. Fuck.

Merlin drops his gaze to Morgana’s cigarette and takes a sharp puff, accidentally inhaling and coughing. Gwaine chortles and slaps him on the back, saying, “There you go! Not so hard is it?”

“I think I need water,” croaks Merlin, and he makes a beeline for the backstage doors before Morgana can offer him her flask which is probably vodka to be honest. He’s feeling turned on and frustrated and jealous all at the same time, and he might cry if he has to be near Arthur for even another three seconds. He bumps into Percival on his way to the stage and Percival gives him a startled look and says, “You all right?” and Merlin just nods and makes a vague excuse about allergies and spends the rest of the rehearsal focusing so hard on his music that he develops a headache. A headache that would probably be cured with a good fuck. This was going to be a long night.

*

Merlin doesn’t have to deal with Arthur usually, because their schedules never overlap again except at rehearsal and after that first rehearsal Merlin doesn’t see Arthur outside. Presumably he’s fucking Mordred backstage, Merlin thinks jealously. The fact that Mordred always looks a bit disheveled during the second half of rehearsal doesn’t help to banish that assumption.

Merlin avoids Mordred too, because they don’t have any classes together. He doesn’t avoid Percival though, because the two of them are taking the final theory class and they know each other well enough to occasionally make small talk. Percival also has extraordinarily gorgeous arms, but Merlin’s never wanted to be crushed by them, which Gwaine says is impossible. Gwaine would fuck anything though, at least that’s what Merlin tells everyone just to piss Gwaine off. He knows Gwaine’s been pining over Percival for the past four years and has been too scared to make a move because he thinks Percival’s out of his league. Gwaine doesn’t do his work, is definitely failing at least one class, lives the high life of partying, smoking, and drinking all the time, and eats like shit; Percival never goes to parties and certainly doesn’t smoke, and probably drinks only half a beer at any social gathering, and gets up at 6am every day to work out, has all A’s, and is probably vegan although Merlin has never confirmed this—the one time he and Percival ate a meal together (strictly platonic, after a chamber music concert), it was at a vegan place that Percival suggested because he knows that Merlin is vegetarian.

During their theory class, Percival leans over to Merlin and whispers, “We’re doing a percussion recital this weekend, think you can work it?” He knows Merlin works part-time backstage for the conservatory’s recital series, and that Merlin is the best worker they have because he actually knows how to work the lights and place the chairs for the cellists and he can carry percussion without dropping it.

Merlin checks his calendar on his phone when the professor’s back is turned, and whispers back, “What time?”

“Saturday, eight.”

Merlin can definitely do Saturday at 8pm and he agrees, before remembering that Arthur is a percussionist. He hesitantly taps Percival’s shoulder, and when Percival turns he says, “All of you?”

Percival looks at him critically. “Yeah, the whole percussion studio.”

Merlin wishes he hadn’t said yes, but he’s too proud of his status as best stage manager, so he doesn’t back out. Still, he definitely puts on a dash of Dior Homme and makes sure his hair looks good before he heads over to the recital hall that Saturday. His strategy, he has decided, is to show Arthur what he’s missing and what he can never have. Yeah, definitely.

He texts Gwaine and Morgana on his way over, saying that they should come to the concert because it’s contemporary music and he knows they love that. In reality he texts because he wants to have emotional support there, and he knows the real reason Gwaine will come is because of Percival.

When he gets to the recital hall, he sees that the percussion instruments are all set up already, in three stations. He appreciates that because for the type of music they’ll be playing tonight it’ll be impossible to rearrange anything quickly. He looks at the program quickly and figures out (because he knows this repertoire) that he won’t have to move anything, he’ll just have to rework spotlights between each piece, which is easy. He heads backstage to find the light controls and collides with Arthur, who is coming onstage just at that moment.

And fuck, Arthur looks good in a suit. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone and the jacket fits his shoulders perfectly, and Merlin can smell his cologne and the whole effect is nearly overwhelming.

Arthur scowls at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Merlin sucks in a breath. “Hello, high and mighty percussion fellow,” he says, trying to sound mocking and probably just sounding stupid. “I’m the stage manager for your concert tonight, so you might as well try and show me a bit more respect or you’ll find yourself in total darkness during an exposed marimba solo.”

Arthur looks him over, apparently deciding whether or not he’s lying. “Well then,” he says, grabbing Merlin by the shoulder and turning him to face the stage, “you can help me reposition everything.”

Merlin instantly heats up at being manhandled and takes a few seconds to organize his brain enough to comprehend what Arthur has just said, by which point Arthur is smirking at him, still holding his shoulder in something resembling a death grip. Merlin tears his gaze away from the piercing blue eyes and looks at the set-up onstage, and his own eyes widen. “Everything? But this is the set-up for the concert,” he blurts out, confusion setting in.

“Well, if you’d looked at the program, stage manager,” says Arthur, condescendingly flipping the piece of paper out of Merlin’s hand and holding it out for Merlin to see, “you’d notice that the order is backwards for the set-up onstage. We need the set-up for the first piece to be on the left—” he lets go of Merlin’s shoulder to indicate, which makes Merlin feel dismally cold— “and the final piece to be center.”

Merlin looks at the stage and then glares at Arthur. “Why did you have it set up like this then, wanker?”

Arthur’s smirk fades dangerously. “What was that?”

Merlin ponders his options. Saying wanker again would be a lot of fun but he might get murdered, and if he has to move all of this equipment he doesn’t have time to be murdered. “Why is it all in this set-up then?” he offers lamely. The smirk returns full force.

“We changed the order after the last rehearsal yesterday,” Arthur responds, as if it was a very simple thing to do and not one that required any work for anyone. “Go on then. I’m waiting.”

Merlin glares at him. “Why don’t you help me, you prick? Or do you want me to drop your precious—”

“Hullo!” calls Percival cheerfully from backstage, and appears in the stage door. “Oh good, you’re here,” he says, acknowledging Merlin with a friendly jerk of his chin. “We need to rearrange some of this.”

“So Arthur’s just told me,” Merlin bites out.

Arthur holds Merlin’s program out to him. “Help Percival with the wooden tables,” he says, “and don’t drop anything.” The way he says it makes Merlin want to do anything for him and also to defy him until Arthur forces him to submit. But he can’t have these thoughts right now because Arthur is looking at him and Arthur can’t know how much Merlin wants him.

The whole recital is a success. The audience is always at its most full for the percussion recitals, and Merlin has an easy time backstage after having moved all the percussion because Arthur leaves him alone, even when it’s just the two of them waiting backstage as the rest of the percussion studio finishes one piece and Arthur’s about to go on for the next one. Arthur is clearly getting into his performing headspace and Merlin doesn’t want to distract him from that, so he doesn’t give the percussion fellow any shit and even offers a smile and a “Good luck” right before opening the stage door for him. Arthur doesn’t seem to notice but Merlin isn’t expecting a response. The one thing he was expecting, and is relieved not to see, is any of the usual interactions between Mordred and Arthur. In fact the only conversations the two of them have backstage are about the music—like clarifying that they know the tempo before going on, so no one starts too fast—and there’s none of the touching.

When the concert is finally over, Percival thumps Merlin on the shoulder and thanks him. “We’re going to grab a drink, want to come?” he asks, putting his mallets in his bag.

Merlin is about to say no but then thinks of Gwaine and how this could be perfect for them. “Sure, but my friends are waiting for me. Can they come too?”

Percival nods. “Of course. We just have to get everything back to the percussion studio, and we’ll go in fifteen minutes or so.”

Merlin goes out into the audience to find Morgana and Gwaine and tell them what Percival has offered, and Gwaine turns slightly pale and tries to beg off but luckily Morgana grabs his arms and ensures that he won’t be making a run for it. Merlin grins and says, “This is your big chance Gwaine. You’re even cleaned up and everything, wearing your good shoes.” Gwaine doesn’t have good shoes.

“Shut up,” Gwaine says, blushing. “Do you really want to put me through hell tonight? If I get drunk there’s no way I’ll be able to hide how I feel.”

Morgana gives him a hug. “We’ll be right here, looking after you when you ask him out and he says yes and you faint from ecstasy.”

“While doing ecstasy,” Merlin says, unable to help it, and Gwaine tries to punch him but Merlin skillfully evades and goes back onstage to help move the instruments.

Arthur and Mordred are carrying the bass drum, and Percival is pushing one marimba carefully between the audience chairs. Merlin goes to the other Marimba and unlocks the feet, and follows Percival at a safe distance. He glances at Arthur and Arthur raises his eyebrows in approval, which inexplicably sends a cascade of warm sparks down Merlin’s spine. He looks away quickly and concentrates on not hitting anyone with the marimba.

When they’ve taken everything back to the studio, Merlin brings Gwaine and Morgana backstage with him and introduces them to Percival. Percival remembers Morgana from a class and smiles at Gwaine, shaking his hand. Gwaine is slightly flustered but he looks adorable because of it. Morgana winks at Merlin.

Arthur, Mordred, and the other percussionists join them, and Percival says that they’re going to a place down the street, so the group heads off. Merlin sticks by Gwaine and creates a conversation between him and Percival, and when he’s gotten it going and can fade into the background he notices Arthur talking with Morgana. Morgana is laughing and Arthur is smiling, and Merin feels a pang of jealousy that he knows is totally unwarranted and unfair, especially since he hasn’t ever told Morgana anything about his feelings for Arthur and she has every right to be flirting with him. Still, it stings, and Merlin averts his gaze and finds himself talking to Mordred about the first years’ shitty theory professor who spits at everyone.

Merlin doesn’t drink, unless it’s at least ten shots because he likes to prove that he can, and tonight he wants to prove it, either to get Arthur’s attention or to distract himself from Arthur, he isn’t sure which. Shots are expensive though, so he settles for interspersing the shots with as much mixed liquor as possible, just to prove it.

Gwaine joins him and Percival laughs at them as they both take a shot of absinthe. Morgana would be Gwaine’s damage control but she’s sitting with Arthur and talking to him animatedly, and Merlin feels sick and knows he can’t be Gwaine’s sober friend today but he’s going to try anyway. The absinthe hurts, though, and it takes him a good thirty seconds to recover, by which point he notices that Percival has wrapped an arm around Gwaine’s waist and is saying something about taking him home. Merlin manages a “Thank you!” and a wave before his vision blurs and he has to lean over the bar counter to ground himself. He suddenly feels very alone and realizes that he’s made a mistake, and dimly registers a hand on his back and Mordred’s voice asking if he’s okay.

“I’m fine,” he says, raising his head. “Just tired or something, didn’t sleep, exams.” Mordred looks like he doesn’t understand what Merlin is saying.

“Merlin!” Morgana’s voice says from his other side. “Jesus Christ, how much did you drink?”

Normally, Merlin would have laughed and said, “Look how impressive I am, fifteen shots in total,” but right now he hates Morgana and he feels like she’s mocking him, so he bats aside her hands on his forehead and stands up, able to keep his balance although the floor is definitely wavering around underneath him.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, “just going home now. Don’t worry.” And he stumbles out into the chilly night air, feeling angry and like total shit. He’s very aware of the fact that no one followed him, and even though he knows that he kind of indicated for them not to, he can’t help wishing someone had.

*

Merlin doesn’t see Arthur again except at rehearsals and their December concert, and avoids him every time. He’s looking forward to getting a break over Christmas. Maybe going home for the holidays will give him a distraction.

His hopes on that front are dashed when the conservatory sends out an email last-minute about a New Years Eve tour in China. There’s a lot of scrabbling together of passport information and booking flights (the whole orchestra is on a plane together), and then Merlin goes home for five days just over Christmas and immediately on Boxing Day is setting off for the airport.

The flight leaves at midnight, and his seat assignment is next to a girl named Gwen, who he recognizes as the harp graduate student. She smiles when he puts his oboe case in the overhead compartment, which immediately makes him feel better, given that he hasn’t spoken to Morgana since the Drinking Incident and he hasn’t really seen Gwaine since Gwaine and Percival became Perwaine, and now he’s pretty sure he has zero friends.

He and Gwen end up talking for the first hour of the flight, and then watch Good Omens together on her laptop, hardcore shipping Crowley and Aziraphale before she falls asleep with her head on his shoulder and he dozes off too. They both wake up halfway through the flight and decide to stand up and walk around for a bit to keep their ankles from swelling, during which time they get drinks from a flight attendant. Merlin feels himself begin to relax and by the time they land he’s actually excited about the tour.

Everyone gets shepherded onto three buses and driven to their hotel, which is a fucking paradise resort, and they all crowd into the lobby to wait for their room assignments. Gwen sticks by Merlin until her room is called. Her roommate is Morgana. Merlin avoids looking at her although she is evidently trying to catch his eye.

“Merlin Emrys and Arthur Pendragon,” calls the orchestra manager, and Merlin freezes, because she did not just say what he thinks she said. When she says it again he wishes the ground would swallow him up, but it doesn’t and he doesn’t want her to say it a third time so he grabs his suitcase and pushes through the crowd toward her.

Arthur gets there first and grabs the keys, and as he turns he catches Merlin’s eye. He doesn’t look pissed off, as Merlin had expected; his lips are twitching into a smirk and his eyes are slightly crinkled at the corners, like he’s hiding back a smile. The prat thinks this is funny.

Merlin grits his teeth and follows Arthur to the elevators. Arthur presses the elevator button and then turns to him, now fully smirking.

“Don’t pout, Merlin, it really doesn’t suit you.”

Merlin glares at him and refrains from responding. Arthur chuckles.

They get to the room without any more discussion, although personally Merlin feels like the air between them is so charged with tension that you can hear a high pitched A in it. Arthur holds the card up to the door and when it clicks and flashes green he opens it and gestures Merlin in.

Merlin actually finds it very difficult to walk that close to Arthur and doesn’t breathe until he’s inside the room. It’s an enormous, luxurious room, he notes, sucking in air in a way that he hopes isn’t noticeable. The beds are both queen beds and the window is a massive bay window. The bathroom is the size of the rest of the room and there’s an enormous shower at the end of it, overlooking the waterfront.

“Do you want to shower first?” Arthur asks, breaking the silence.

Merlin hesitates. He would like to, but he doesn’t feel comfortable getting changed yet, because if he thinks about being naked and being in the same room as Arthur, he’ll get painfully hard. “You go first,” he says, trying to sound unaffected and sounding cross instead.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asks, and then adds coaxingly, “We can shower together if you want.”

Merlin is pretty sure he is going to explode.

“You must be exhausted after that flight,” continues Arthur soothingly, “and we don’t have to be anywhere for four hours.”

Merlin freezes because he can feel Arthur’s breath on his neck and he wants this more than anything right now, but he’s pretty sure Arthur is making fun of him and he hates that. He can’t stand the thought that Arthur will get to torment him for the next week and then make fun of him to his friends. So he turns around and glares at Arthur, who is smirking innocently at him, and says, “Yeah, I’m exhausted, and dealing with you gives me a headache, so if I can have five minutes where I don’t have to look at your face I’d really appreciate it.”

Arthur doesn’t buy it, and Merlin honestly isn’t surprised because he feels like he is exuding want. “You don’t have to look at my face, and I definitely won’t let you if you say things like that.”

Merlin is struggling to breathe again. How is it possible that this man can take him apart so quickly? “Just go and shower, you prick,” he snarls, throwing his oboe case down on his bed and busying himself with unzipping his suitcase.

Arthur seems to sense Merlin’s embarrassment, or maybe he’s just had enough of mocking Merlin for now, so he turns around and Merlin thinks everything will be okay. But then Arthur pulls off his own shirt, right there in the room in front of him, and Merlin might honestly die because Arthur’s back is rippling with muscles and Merin wants to touch them. He looks down quickly before Arthur can catch him looking.

When Arthur goes into the bathroom and closes the door, Merlin lets out an audible sigh of relief and opens his oboe case. Maybe making reeds will help him refocus. And then he’ll jerk off in the shower when Arthur won’t be able to see any evidence.

*

When Merlin gets out of the shower, Arthur isn’t in the room. Merlin has a text from Gwen saying that she’s found out about a rooftop bar and they have to go later and get shots of baijiu. All expenses are covered for their hotel purchases, because the people who organized the tour got a huge amount of financial support from Chinese patrons, and Merlin is quite sure that something like this will never happen again in his life. He’s also quite sure that everyone is going to exploit the hell out of hotel charges.

He feels like he hasn’t slept enough, but he isn’t tired at all, and it’s only mid-afternoon, so he decides to practice a bit. Then he works on reeds, and by 6pm when the orchestra is supposed to meet down in the lobby for dinner, Arthur still hasn’t come back. Merlin thinks he should be relieved but only feels disappointed.

He texts Gwen and they meet on the elevator on the way down. Morgana is with Gwen, and for a second Merlin doesn’t know what to do, but then Morgana grabs him and hugs him and demands, “Why the hell are you avoiding me?” and he can’t tell her the truth so he mumbles that he thought she was angry at him. She clearly doesn’t believe it but she lets it pass for now, keeping an arm wrapped around his neck and telling Gwen that he’s a total idiot and they will all celebrate what an idiot he is over baijiu later. Gwen is laughing and Merlin feels suddenly very happy.

They sit together at dinner, and Gwaine comes to join them. He grins as he plunks himself down in a chair, looking totally wiped out, which prompts Morgana to comment slyly, “You and Percival been enjoying yourselves?”

“Nah,” Gwaine says, crestfallen, “he had to go over to the concert hall this afternoon to set up all the percussion. They’ve got hundreds of instruments or something.”

That explained Arthur’s absence. Not that Merlin cared.

The orchestra manager and the assistant conductor stand up during dinner and give everyone the basics of the following week, when rehearsals would start and which concerts happened when. They would have three days of rehearsing in the morning and afternoon, and then they would have two concerts, one on New Year’s Eve and one on New Year's Day, both followed by receptions with the guest conductor and the donors. Then they would have one final day free for sightseeing (paid for by the patrons, Merlin noted) and then they would fly home.

As soon as the talk is over, Gwen snags Merlin’s arms and Morgana’s hand and tugs them up from their seats. “Are we going to this rooftop bar then?” she says in a way that was more a statement than a question.

“Coming?” Merlin asks Gwaine. Gwaine shakes his head.

“Sober for 3 weeks,” he says, and Merlin bites down a smile.

“That’s possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” he says. “Did you give up weed too?”

“Shh,” Morgana scolds. “It’s illegal here.”

“I don’t smoke anymore,” Gwaine admits, looking lovestruck when he says it. Merlin makes a mental note to congratulate Percival. “However,” he continues with a grin, “I brought some ‘chocolates.’” The air quotes are so audible that Merlin doesn’t need to ask if Gwaine is talking about edibles. “For New Years,” Gwaine winks. Morgana laughs delightedly.

“Finally we’ll get Merlin high,” she says.

“I don’t know, I think it’s impossible,” Merlin says seriously.

“You don’t fucking inhale!” Gwaine starts, and Morgana advises Gwen to drag Merlin away before a bicker breaks out.

They leave Gwaine and take the elevator up to one of the top floors. When they get out there’s faint soothing music playing and a pebbled fountain. Merlin follows Gwen and Morgana into a sitting room that has a bar counter with a beautiful array of bottles. The bar is indoors but there are double glass doors and wide glass windows on the walls, and Merlin can see that outside on a wide curved terrace there’s a view of the bay and the lit-up buildings across the water.

Morgana is ordering Baijiu shots and Gwen says they should get cocktails as well, so Merlin gets a Bloody Mary and follows Gwen and Morgana out onto the terrace. He catches his breath as the full effect of the blue lights of their hotel and the red lights traversing the buildings across the bay hit him.

“Gorgeous,” he breathes.

“Pic for instagram?” Gwen asks, and they crowd together, holding up their shots as she takes the picture.

“Tag me,” says Morgana, resting her chin on Gwen’s shoulder to look at her phone.

“Well duh,” Gwen retorts.

Merlin’s gaydar and flirt signals light up. He hasn’t ever thought Morgana was at all not straight, and she’s never told him anything except . . . well, anything. She’s never had a boyfriend either though. Except that thing with Arthur. Had he been wrong about that thing with Arthur?

“Okay, shots,” Gwen says, raising hers. Merlin downs his and enjoys the burn and the light buzz that settles in after.

They stay up on the roof for a couple of hours, enjoying the view and drinking and talking. Merlin definitely feels the chemistry between Gwen and Morgana and gradually removes himself from the conversation, opting to stare out over the water instead and enjoy his cocktail. He realizes that he is now a bit tired but he doesn’t feel like going to bed yet. This atmosphere is too soothing and too beautiful, and he feels calmer away from Arthur. He has to somehow sleep in the same room as Arthur, how the hell is that going to work?

“It’s after eleven,” says Morgana in surprise, dragging Merlin out of his brooding. “We should go to bed so we can actually get up at seven tomorrow. Damn bus is leaving at eight for rehearsal, remember?”

“We have all week to come back here,” agrees Gwen. “I’m not tired though, are you?”

“I’m really not,” Morgana answers. They share a look. Merlin smiles to himself.

“We’re going then,” Gwen says, finishing the last of her drink and standing up. “Coming, Merlin?”

“Nah. I think I’ll stay here for a bit,” Merlin says. “Have a good night,” he adds with a grin so they won’t worry about him.

“See you tomorrow, bright and early,” groans Morgana. Merlin laughs and waves her off.

Somehow he sits there for two more hours before he figures that he’d better go try to sleep at least. He goes back to his room and opens the door as quietly as possible. Maybe Arthur will be asleep already.

Arthur isn’t asleep. He’s sitting on his bed, shirtless, going through a score. He looks up when Merlin comes in.

“Hi,” Merlin says, figuring that talking is better than charged silence. He makes his way over to his bed and starts going through his suitcase for pajamas.

Arthur acknowledges him with a small hum, his eyes returning to the score in front of him.

“I heard the percussionists had to set up all afternoon,” offers Merlin, glancing over. “Were there a lot of instruments then?”

Arthur fixes his eyes on him, and Merlin freezes. “Yes, Merlin, there were a lot of instruments.”

“Well you don’t have to be so rude about it, Jesus,” Merlin mutters.

“I’m trying to concentrate,” Arthur says, enunciating clearly like Merlin’s stupid. “I don’t care if you spend every night here getting drunk but at least don’t bother me when you get in late.”

Merlin opens his mouth and shuts it again. He stands up abruptly and goes into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Fucking prick! He glares at his reflection in the mirror. He isn’t drunk! And it isn’t that late, and certainly not the time to be doing mental practice or score study or whatever. But fine, he won’t talk to Arthur any more, ever again unless strictly necessary. He changes and brushes his teeth viciously and then goes back into the bedroom, pointedly ignoring the total prick asshole percussionist with whom he has the misfortune of rooming.

He gets into bed, his back to Arthur, and turns out his light. He sets his alarm and then lies still under the covers, trying to clear his mind so that he can get some goddamn sleep. However much he tries, he can’t make his brain direct away from listening to every movement Arthur makes, every shift and page turn and light pencil scratch. These are not loud noises, and it seems like Arthur is purposefully being quiet, but Merlin seeks them out anyway. He doesn’t even dare move for fear of missing a shift.

Eventually the scratching of the pencil lulls him to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

When Merlin’s alarm goes off in the morning, he regrets everything in life, most specifically not getting enough sleep. But he can’t sleep in, and he doesn’t want to piss Arthur off, so he turns off the alarm immediately and sits up.

Arthur actually isn’t in the room. Merlin sourly supposes he’s gone to fuck somebody, maybe Mordred, although why his brain jumps to this image is a bit of a mystery to him. Honestly Arthur could just be at breakfast or something. Merlin gets dressed and is about to go downstairs to grab breakfast when Arthur comes in, clearly having just come from a workout.

People are not supposed to look this sexy after a workout. Arthur’s wearing a sleeveless and sweatpants and his biceps and the lines of his throat are gleaming with sweat. His hair looks adorably mussed. Merlin tears his eyes off him and turns back to his bed like he’s forgotten something, fumbling aimlessly in one of the compartments of his oboe case.

“Morning Merlin,” Arthur says. He doesn’t sound particularly interested but he also doesn’t sound put out. That’s better than last night, then.

Merlin clears his throat and responds, “Morning,” in a voice that’s way too small. He curses himself inwardly. He doesn’t turn around until he hears Arthur shut the bathroom door, and then he makes a quick getaway, feeling uncomfortably caught off guard and unable to banish the unsettled feeling. He’s belatedly realizing that he was breathing shallowly the whole time too, and sucks in a few deep breaths, trying to clear his head.

He sees Gwen and Morgana at the breakfast buffet downstairs, and joins them, only grabbing a yogurt because his stomach is tense and he doesn’t feel like he can eat right now.

“Sleep well?” asks Morgana.

“Sort of,” Merlin says. He’ll talk to her about Arthur soon, he thinks, just not right now when there’s so many people and also Gwen who Morgana is clearly having fun with, so it would be a real downer to discuss Merlin’s shithole of a personal life.

“You look like shit,” Morgana comments. Merlin glares at her.

“Thanks. You too.”

Morgana bares her teeth at him. “I never look like shit,” she says.

“You’d be surprised,” Merlin says, and Morgana thwacks him. “Ow!”

“Honestly, people will think I’m sitting with two first-years,” Gwen interjects.

“Merlin looks like one anyway,” Morgana says.

Merlin is about to say something about how at least he’ll look good when he’s fifty and she’ll look like an old hag, when he catches sight of Arthur entering the buffet area with Percival. Merlin’s mouth is suddenly dry and his pulse has sped up, and the yogurt he’s been working his way through tastes like shit now. He puts it down and swallows, concentrating on the table in front of him. What’s wrong with him? Can’t he just hate the guy and then have whatever fantasies about him and be done? Why does he have to be so sensitive to the energy coming off Arthur?

“Hey Merlin,” Gwaine says from his left, startling him suddenly with a clap on the back. “Ready for rehearsal?”

“Are you?” retorts Merlin. Gwaine laughs and shakes his head, and then spots Percival.

“Percy,” he calls, waving.

Percival looks over at them, and Arthur follows his gaze. His eyes meet Merlin’s and for a second Merlin is frozen in place, and then Arthur looks back at Percival and says something and shakes his head slightly. Disappointed rushes over Merlin. Arthur picks up what looks like some sort of fruit thing and heads out of the buffet.

Percival blows Gwaine a kiss and follows Arthur out, also grabbing some food on the way, and Gwaine sighs. “They have to take an early bus every day,” he says, “something to do with percussion set-up because it’s different for every piece and there are literally hundreds of instruments.”

“Thank god I’m not a percussionist,” Morgana says. “Or a harpist. Sorry Gwen.”

“I regret it all the time,” Gwen laughs.

They leave the buffet just before 8am and get on their bus, which takes them to the concert hall, and then they’re shepherded backstage into the dressing rooms by some ushers. The rooms are divided by gender, something Merlin is disturbed to see. Gwen and Morgana go into one and Gwaine and Merlin pick the one next to it.

“Warmup time,” Gwaine says, putting his case down and taking out his trombone. He plays a few glissandos and shrugs. “Good enough.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and takes out one of his good reeds, sticking it in his mouth and sucking while he puts his oboe together.

“I wish I could warm up like that,” says a trumpeter on Gwaine’s other side. Merlin vaguely recognizes him as the guy who’s been first chair on every concert this semester but he doesn’t think they’ve ever talked. “I need at least twenty minutes.”

“He can’t actually warm up like that, he just doesn’t care,” Merlin says around his reed. Gwaine laughs and socks Merlin on the shoulder, and heads out of the room with his trombone over his shoulder like a rifle.

“You’re the principal oboist on this concert, aren’t you?” the trumpeter asks. “I remember your solo in the Mahler last month. Brilliant.”

“Thanks,” Merlin says, smiling in surprise. “Are you a grad student? I don’t remember you from last year.”

The trumpeter shakes his head. “Transfer. I’m Lancelot.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Merlin.” Merlin sticks out his hand awkwardly, balancing various parts of his oboe in the other arm. Lancelot grins and shakes the offered hand.

“Fourth year?”

“Fourth and final.”

“You can’t wait to get out of here, then?”

“I can’t tell you in too much detail because then you’ll transfer out again,” Merlin responds gamely. Lancelot laughs and then glances over Merlin’s shoulder.

“Here comes trouble,” he says. Merlin turns and sees Mordred come in, sort of like a cloud comes over a sunny field, looking very frustrated.

“You think he’s trouble?” Merlin asks, trying not to let the relief at being validated show in his voice.

“He’s total trouble,” Lancelot says. “He did a cymbal crash right in my ear six times. Even after I told him to move back or put up a shield. He’s a bastard.”

Merlin laughs delightedly. “What a prick.”

Arthur comes in a few paces behind Mordred and Merlin sobers up immediately. He focuses back on his oboe, finishing putting it together and testing out the reed. Mordred, on the other side of the room, looks up at the reed squeak and glares at him.

“What the fuck?” Merlin says around his reed to Lancelot. Lancelot shrugs. Merlin shrugs too and collects his water and music and goes onstage. Arthur hasn’t looked at him once.

*

After rehearsal Merlin asks Gwaine and Lancelot if they want to go to the bar. Gwaine declines, and Merlin guiltily remembers that he’d said he was sober, but Lancelot agrees. They go and find Morgana and Gwen and take the bus back together, and Merlin introduces Lancelot to the other two and immediately notices a weird tension developing, especially between Lancelot and Morgana. It could be just the way Morgana is, but they’re already settling into a play-abusive dynamic, like Morgana telling Lancelot that the trumpets sounded messy and he’d better step up, and Lancelot flustering an excuse about it being the first rehearsal, Jesus Christ. Gwen just looks amused.

It’s still light outside when they get back to the hotel. They get beers and sit on the couches on the bar’s terrace. Merlin relaxes into watching the beginnings of the sunset and enjoying the cool breeze and the sound of Gwen laughing and Morgana cackling and Lancelot spluttering retorts to Morgana’s digs, which have now become trumpet jokes.

He’s disrupted from his serene thoughts when he hears Arthur say, “Hi Gwen,” and then appear in Merlin’s line of vision next to Gwen.

Gwen looks up and beams. “Arthur! Come and join us. We’re making fun of the brass section.” Arthur sits down next to her and she wraps an arm around his shoulders.

Is everyone having sex with everyone except Merlin??

“Listen,” protests Lancelot, and falters when Arthur looks at him in amusement. Ah, so it’s not just Merlin who gets tongue-tied when confronted with Arthur’s too-blue eyes.

“I’m listening,” Arthur says comfortably. His eyes stay fixed on Lancelot.

“Make fun of oboes instead,” Lancelot comes up with. Merlin throws him a betrayed look, and avoids looking at Arthur, who has transferred the searing gaze to him.

“Well yes actually,” Morgana says, “here’s one. What do an oboe and a lawsuit have in common?”

“Oh god,” groans Merlin, hiding his face.

“Everyone is relieved when the case is closed,” Morgana says triumphantly.

“What’s the difference between a violin and a cello?” Merlin throws back.

“The cello burns longer,” Gwen says. Morgana glares at her.

“Did you hear about the oboist who played in tune?” Lancelot contributes. “Neither did I.”

“I thought we were friends,” Merlin tells him.

“Really? You left me to fend for myself earlier.” Lancelot grins at him.

“What’s the perfect weight for an oboe player?” Gwen asks.

“Three and a half pounds including the urn,” Arthur says. It sounds vaguely threatening.

Merlin glares at him. Arthur looks innocently back and takes a sip of Gwen’s beer.

“All right,” Merlin says, sitting up straighter. “How can you tell the stage is level?”

Arthur smirks and he looks at Merlin like “Come at me boy.”

“The percussionist is drooling from both sides of his mouth,” Merlin supplies. “How do you get a snare player to accelerando? Ask him to keep a steady tempo. Why do timpanists bend over and put their ear up to the timpani? There’s a little man inside who tells them when and what to play.”

“Not bad, not bad,” Arthur acknowledges, leaning back comfortably. “Keep going.”

Does nothing irritate him?

“Anyone want another beer?” Gwen asks, standing up.

“Sure, let me help you,” Arthur says, standing up with her smoothly and throwing Merlin a cocky grin. “Want anything, mate?”

“No thanks, mate,” Merlin bites back.

“Suit yourself, mate. How about you?” he asks Lancelot.

“Another beer please actually, thanks,” says Lancelot, glancing at Merlin. Arthur nods and heads inside.

“Morgana?” Gwen asks, rubbing her shoulder. Morgana smiles at her predatorily.

“Baijiu,” she says.

“Ooh one for me too please,” Merlin says immediately.

“I thought you didn’t want anything,” Morgana counters, looking at him like she can see into his soul.

“I didn’t know we were doing shots yet,” Merlin says, trying to hide his discomfort.

Morgana continues searching his face for a few seconds and then stands up and goes inside with Gwen. Immediately Merlin sags into the sofa.

“You okay?” Lancelot asks.

“Yeah. Fine.”

Lancelot looks at him sympathetically and Merlin lets it spill out. “He’s a fucking prick and we don’t get along at all and now I have to be his roommate for a week.”

Lancelot obviously knows who “he” is. “Why don’t you ask to change rooms?”

Merlin groans and covers his face with his hands.

“He’s hot, isn’t he,” Lancelot comments.

Merlin shoots Lancelot a look and Lancelot grins knowingly back. “Fine. He’s fucking hot and I want him to pin me to the sheets and fuck me until I can’t sit down for three days.”

“Mmm,” Lancelot says understandingly.

Merlin scrubs his face with his hands. He’s not sure why he told Lancelot that, but it’s honestly a massive relief to admit it. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? I’d be mortified if anyone knew.”

“I think Morgana probably guessed,” Lancelot hedges.

Merlin groans again.

“Don’t worry,” Lancelot chuckles. “You’re stuck with him for a week. If he doesn’t fuck you by New Year’s Eve I’ll eat my mouthpiece.”

“That will be painful,” Merlin points out.

“Not as painful as Arthur fucking you, I bet,” Lancelot teases. Merlin shoves him.

“It’s never going to happen,” he says. “I’ll look forward to watching you eat your mouthpiece.”

“We’ll see.”

“See what?” asks Morgana, returning and sitting back down, holding two shots of baijiu. Merlin reaches out and she holds it away. “This one’s for Lance.”

Lancelot looks a bit stunned, then cautiously interested, and reaches out and takes it. “You didn’t get one for Merlin then?”

“Arthur’s bringing his,” Morgana says wickedly.

“What? Why?” Merlin demands.

“I couldn’t carry everything,” she says airily.

Gwen and Arthur come back out, laughing about something, and Gwen sits down by Morgana again and puts Lancelot’s beer on the low table between the sofas. Arthur leans over the table and hands Merlin his shot, and their fingers brush because of course they do, only there isn’t any romantic music playing, just a tight cascade of sparks down Merlin’s spine that make him temporarily dizzy.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. Arthur cocks an eyebrow at him and sits back down next to Gwen. Gwen sort of snuggles into him and Merlin feels the familiar hot sting of jealousy.

“Cheers, we made it through the first day,” Morgana says, holding her shot glass aloft.

Merlin downs his shot and exhilarates in the distraction of its burn. There’s some music wafting out from the bar now and the sun has almost completely set, and the red and blue lights are dancing across the buildings again. He feels sleepy now, but it’s hardly past 8pm and he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to go to bed yet if he actually wants to sleep through the night.

“Apparently,” Morgana says, clearly not done tormenting Merlin, “this small idiot can drink fifteen shots in an hour.”

Lancelot makes an impressed noise.

“Not ‘apparently’,” Merlin retorts, “I actually can.”

“Shall we put him to the test?” Morgana asks.

Merlin is about to get up and go get a tray of fifteen shots when Arthur says, “That’s a terrible idea, he has to get up for rehearsal tomorrow.”

“What, you don’t think I can do it?” Merlin asks, trying to pin Arthur down with his stare. It doesn’t work. Arthur just pins him back.

“I don’t think you should,” he says. “It’s unprofessional.”

Merlin opens and closes his mouth, trying to think of something cutting to say in return, but Arthur’s right and he really doesn’t like the idea that Arthur thinks he’s unprofessional.

“New Years Eve, maybe,” Gwen suggests.

“We have to go clubbing on New Years Eve,” Morgana says. “Do you like clubbing, Lance?”

Merlin gets the impression that she’s testing Lancelot out. And it looks like Lancelot likes it.

“I’ve never been,” Lancelot admits.

“You’re a trumpet player and you’ve never been clubbing?” she crows, and is off again, teasing him mercilessly. Merlin is glad she’s not getting at him anymore, and Lancelot doesn’t seem to need any help so this situation is obviously preferable.

Gwen and Arthur are chatting now, Gwen curled up against Arthur’s side, and Merlin wonders why he is always the third or fifth wheel. He gets up and goes inside, unnoticed, and after not finding anyone else to talk to he goes back to the room. Maybe he’ll just take a shower and get an early night. Maybe that’s the best thing to do. Maybe he’ll be asleep when Arthur comes in and he won’t have to deal with him. He could use a break from Arthur, honestly. A break from even thinking about Arthur.

*

The next morning, Merlin leaves the room before Arthur gets back from the gym, and he skips breakfast altogether and goes straight to the lobby. He sits there for a while, aimless, not wanting to be in the room because of Arthur and not being able to eat because of Arthur. He honestly might have a really shitty week if this continues.

After about fifteen minutes Lancelot and Gwaine show up with their instruments, talking about a recording of some German trumpet player playing a particular etude in one breath. Lancelot is playing the video and they reach Merlin just as the guy in the video yells “Fuck!” and Lancelot and Gwaine crack up.

Of course they replay the video to show him and the trumpeter can’t get all the way through the etude so the end is just air instead of notes, followed by the “Fuck!” and Merlin bursts out laughing too, and then they all watch the video again and again and are collapsing in hysterics when Percival and Arthur arrive.

“Percy,” gasps Gwaine, “come and look at this video.”

Percival looks amused. “We have to catch the percussion bus.”

“Just watch, it’s just a couple of minutes.”

Percival melts as Gwaine links his arm through Percival’s. He glances at Arthur and Arthur nods, looking over Gwaine’s other shoulder and crossing his arms, his biceps unfairly on display now, Merlin thinks. Gwaine replays the video for them and bursts out laughing at the end again.

Percival just looks at him fondly and chuckles a bit. Arthur actually laughs though, and the sound of it rings through Merlin’s whole being like a warm enveloping hug. He wants to make Arthur laugh like that all the time.

Percival kisses Gwaine and he and Arthur go outside to the bus that’s waiting there. Gwaine gazes after him, looking lovestruck.

“How cute,” Lancelot says.

“What?” Gwaine says, sounding dazed.

“He’s always like that around Percival,” Merlin says conspiratorially.

“I am not,” Gwaine contradicts immediately. “Like what? I …”

Merlin and Lancelot laugh.

*

The rehearsal goes smoothly. At the lunch break, Merlin goes into the dressing room backstage where he’d left his case and finds Arthur, Gwaine, and Percival talking, and Lancelot warming down. He takes his reed out of his oboe and pops it into his mouth, sucking absently as he takes his oboe apart, and his eyes flick over the group to rest on Arthur. To his surprise, Arthur’s gazing back at him, apparently engrossed. Merlin freezes and Arthur’s eyes flick up to meet his own and then back down to his mouth.

His mouth?

Merlin puts his hand up to his mouth and cautiously slides the reed out. Arthur tracks the movement, his lips parting slightly and his eyes widening. Merlin lets his tongue slide out with the reed and licks it, and Arthur swallows. Their eyes meet again.

Then Arthur blinks and turns back to Percival.

Merlin puts his oboe away, confused. Did Arthur actually just check him out? All this time that he’s been fantasizing about that happening, he’s never really expected it to happen. He’s so flustered that he declines Gwaine’s lunch invitation and opts to just sit in the dressing room for the next hour, furiously making reeds and trying to distract himself from thinking too much about it.

Of course, with an hour to himself, he overthinks it and comes to the conclusion that Arthur was most likely messing with him and will probably make fun of him later. He resolves to ignore him for the rest of the day. A small part of him reminds himself that he’s not going to be able to ignore Arthur, but he squashes that part down for now. It’s easy to resolve to do something when you’re not confronted with the thing. Or not to do. Not to do! He’s not going to do Arthur. That’s not going to happen ever.

*

After the afternoon rehearsal, the musicians all go back to the hotel, and inevitably Morgana texts Merlin telling him that they’re meeting at the bar again. Merlin suggests that they do dinner first, and Morgana texts back that they’ll just eat room service later. Merlin texts that he’s going to practice for a bit and he’ll join them later. She texts him to wear a layer because it’s chillier this evening.

An hour later, Merlin puts on a hoodie and goes up to the bar. He finds Morgana outside at one of the high tables, sitting in a semi-drunk and fully dazed Lancelot’s lap, Gwen sitting on a barstool next to them. They all wave at him and he realizes that they are all drunk, and he senses a threesome on the way.

“I’m texting Gwaine,” he says. “You’re all going to leave soon, aren’t you? Don’t even try to pretend.”

Lancelot looks called out, Gwen tries to protest, and Morgana just cackles. Merlin texts Gwaine to please please come and rescue him, they don’t have to drink just come and hang out with his best friend please. Gwaine texts back immediately with several laughing crying emojis and the promise that he and Percival will be there soon.

They are, and Merlin is slightly disappointed that Arthur doesn’t arrive with them, but he pushes that thought down and hugs Gwaine. Gwaine takes in the sight of Morgana, Gwen, and Lancelot, and starts applauding very loudly and telling everyone on the balcony that history is being made this very night. Gwen tries half-heartedly to shush him but Morgana encourages it and Lancelot just buries his face in Morgana’s neck.

Merlin is enjoying it all very much when he happens to glance inside at the bar counter and sees Arthur there with Mordred leaning on his shoulder. Merlin feels suddenly very cold and miserable. Mordred is saying something to Arthur and Arthur laughs, and Merlin wishes he were the one making Arthur laugh. But he hates Arthur, so why would he want that? This is getting out of hand. Mordred is leaning into Arthur more now and Merlin can’t bear to look at this, and right now he wants to be very drunk so that he can barely see or hear. He goes inside to the bar and orders three shots of baijiu.

Arthur turns. “Merlin?”

Merlin ignores him and takes the first shot, downing it straight away. He does the same with the second shot, and then reaches for the third, only to find that Arthur has grabbed his arm.

“What on earth are you doing?” Arthur demands. “You can’t drink three in a row like that, do you realize what percentage that is?”

“Watch me,” Merlin snaps.

“We have rehearsal tomorrow.” Arthur frowns at him.

“Why don’t you just worry about yourself and leave me alone?” Merlin demands.

“Because,” says Arthur patiently, “it reflects badly on all of us if one member of the orchestra gets wasted and acts like an idiot and shows up unprepared to rehearsal.”

“That’s all you care about,” mutters Merlin.

“Excuse me?”

Merlin scowls at him. “I know how to handle three shots.”

“I remember how well you can handle alcohol,” Arthur says with an infuriating smirk. Merlin knows he’s referring to the night after the percussion recital. Maybe Arthur’s right, but Merlin is upset and jealous and conflicted because he knows he shouldn’t be and he’s also just really angry at Arthur for no reason except that Arthur is treating him like a child.

He picks up one of the shot glasses. “Oh, you don’t think I can handle it? Well maybe you can handle this, then.” Without thinking through what he’s doing, he throws the liquor in Arthur’s face.

The shock that registers in Arthur’s eyes is brilliant, until it’s replaced by a steeled expression that makes Merlin’s stomach flip. Arthur wipes a hand over his face and then stands up, grabbing Merlin and hauling him off his barstool. Merlin is the one who’s shocked now, too much so to resist when Arthur pulls him out of the bar.

He slams Merlin up against the wall in the corridor, pinning him with his body weight and his hands gripping the front of Merlin’s hoodie. “What the hell was that?” he growls, his face inches from Merlin’s.

Merlin glares at him. “That was me throwing baijiu in your face, didn’t you get the memo?”

Arthur studies him, his eyes flicking over Merlin’s face, then down to where Merlin’s hands are clutching at Arthur’s wrists but not attempting to push him away. His eyes snap back to Merlin’s, searing into him.

Something clicks between them. Arthur leans forward and Merlin closes his eyes in anticipation, but he only feels Arthur’s breath on his ear and then, “Go down to the room. Be ready in five minutes.” Then he releases Merlin and goes back inside the bar.

Merlin leans against the wall for a few seconds, catching his breath and trying to figure out if what just happened means what he thinks it means. He staggers upright and goes to the elevator. The whole way back to the room he’s thinking that Arthur can’t possibly want him, and this was just a ploy to get him out of the bar so Arthur can enjoy his night with Mordred. When he’s back in the room he slumps against the door, disappointment washing over him. Of course Arthur’s not coming. Of course nothing is going to happen. Might as well make Lancelot eat his mouthpiece now, and then find someone else to pine over and be officially done with this whole thing.

What if Arthur is coming, though?

Not happening, obviously. Totally wouldn’t happen. And if Merlin were to take his clothes off now it would just be totally humiliating to be lying on his bed waiting all night until Arthur finally comes in and laughs uproariously at him.

Merlin hears the lock click and stumbles forward as the door swings open. He turns around and comes face to face with Arthur, who’s looking amused and also pissed off.

“I thought I told you to be ready,” he says, shutting the door.

“I don’t do things just because you tell me to,” Merlin throws back.

“You will,” Arthur says, advancing on Merlin and backing him up to Merlin’s bed.

“Will I?” counters Merlin, desperate to make Arthur lose his cool.

Arthur smiles and then grabs Merlin’s arms and throws him onto the bed on his stomach. Merlin gasps and rolls over as Arthur crawls up over him and pins his arms above his head.

“I’m not touching you until you beg for it,” he whispers against Merlin’s mouth.

“Bet,” Merlin hisses, melting into Arthur’s grip on his wrists. Arthur laughs.

“I’ll take that bet,” he says, releasing Merlin’s wrists and bracing himself with his arms on either side of Merlin’s head. He lowers his mouth to Merlin’s neck and Merlin moans in anticipation of the bite but it never comes. Confused, he turns his head and feels electricity thrill along his skin as Arthur traces his mouth, less than a centimeter from Merlin’s skin, up from Merlin’s neck to his jaw. His breath is hot and teasing and Merlin wants more but he doesn’t dare move because then Arthur will have won.

But then Arthur’s mouth is hovering over his and he can’t bear it so he chases Arthur’s lips, only to find that they’re gone. He opens his eyes and sees Arthur smirking down at him.

“Beg,” he commands.

“No,” Merlin breathes.

Arthur smiles and leans in again, and it’s too much and Merlin cries out softly, “Please!”

“See?” Arthur murmurs, “that wasn’t so hard,” but he doesn’t kiss Merlin. He just grabs his wrists again and pins them down into the blankets and says, “Again.”

Merlin whines. “You prick.”

“What was that?” Arthur shakes him a little. Merlin glares up at him.

“Please,” he bites out.

Arthur raises his eyebrows. “It doesn’t sound like you mean it.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Merlin bursts out. Arthur laughs and lets go of Merlin’s wrists. Merlin immediately reaches out for him, unable to imagine that Arthur would leave now, not when Merlin needs him more than anything. “Please, please, I’m sorry, I’ll do whatever you want, just please—”

“That’s better,” Arthur says soothingly. He grips Merlin’s arms and holds them above his head. “Keep your hands there, don’t move them unless I tell you to.”

Merlin nods, breathless. Arthur lets go and, bracing himself on his forearms again, lowers his head and bites Merlin’s neck. Merlin arches his head back and stifles a whimper, struggling to keep his body still as Arthur sucks the spot he’s bitten and then bites again, lower down. This time Merlin actually does whimper, and Arthur threads his fingers through Merlin’s hair and pulls, eliciting a small cry. Arthur kisses Merlin’s neck and whispers, “Safeword?”

“Red, yellow, green,” Merlin gasps out. Arthur smiles into Merlin’s neck.

“Good. Which one is it now?”

“Green, obviously you idiot,” Merlin hisses. Arthur raises his head and pins Merlin with his eyes.

“It’s never obvious,” he says, his tone hard. “Take this seriously, or I won’t fuck you. I mean it.”

“So you are going to fuck me? Eventually, at some point?” Merlin demands.

“If you’re good,” Arthur says, and he doesn’t look like someone to be messed with right now, so Merlin lowers his eyes.

“Green,” he says meekly.

“Good,” Arthur says, and licks the hollow of Merlin’s throat before attacking the other side of his neck. Merlin arches his body up, trying to get any kind of friction, and Arthur grabs his hip and pushes him back down. Merlin whimpers.

“You’re not being very good,” Arthur says conversationally. Merlin freezes, scared that Arthur will actually leave him. “Isn’t that easy?” Arthur chuckles against his neck. “I can’t really see why you can’t just behave all the time if you can when I threaten you.”

Merlin bites his tongue, because he wants to talk back but he can’t bear to wait any longer so he’ll just do whatever Arthur tells him. Sensing the change, Arthur takes pity on him. He unzips Merlin’s jeans and reaches in past his boxers to slowly stroke his cock. Merlin gasps and shakes with the effort of trying to keep still as Arthur moves his hand gradually faster, still sucking bruises onto Merlin’s neck before mouthing his way up along Merlin’s jaw to his mouth.

Because Merlin’s mouth is open as he gasps, Arthur is easily able to slide his tongue in and devour Merlin. Merlin completely melts into the sensation, letting Arthur take full control over him, making himself as pliable as possible. Arthur tugs Merlin’s hair sharply as he kisses him, quickening the pace of his hand, until Merlin feels his spine tingling sharply and then comes just as Arthur takes his hand away and releases Merlin’s mouth.

Merlin has never had an orgasm ruined before, and it’s the worst thing he’s ever experienced. Without Arthur’s hand on him the sensation of the orgasm is over as soon as it begins, and it’s so unfair, he doesn’t even know what he did wrong. He lies limp in the blankets, missing Arthur’s touch, feeling tears sliding down his cheeks.

“Beg,” Arthur whispers. Merlin opens his eyes and slaps him.

Arthur’s eyes widen and he grabs Merlin’s wrists again, pinning them forcefully above Merlin’s head.

“Oh really?” he growls. “That’s how you want this to go?”

“Why did you do that?” Merlin snaps. “I did what you told me to.”

“You talked back too much,” Arthur tells him.

“Fuck you.”

“I don’t think that’s what you meant to say.”

Merlin opens his mouth to yell at him but he stops because Arthur’s hand is slipping down Merlin’s jeans again, although not down the front this time. Instead, he pushes Merlin’s jeans down over his hips and grips the curve of Merlin’s ass. Merlin inhales sharply, shutting his mouth.

“Remember,” Arthur whispers into his neck, “you can use your safeword at any time.”

Merlin nods, feeling safe in the momentary gentleness. Arthur kisses his neck and stands up.

“Take off your clothes,” he commands, going over to his suitcase. Merlin sits up and complies.

Arthur’s back a few moments later with a bottle of lube. He throws it on the bed and crawls up over Merlin again, forcefully pinning his arms above his head. “Keep them there,” he whispers. Merlin nods, not trusting himself to speak. Honestly, why doesn’t Arthur just tie him? But he’d be lying if he didn’t relish the added difficulty of having to keep himself still or risk punishment.

Arthur uncaps the bottle and pours some lube out onto his fingers, and gently slides his hand under the curve of Merlin’s ass to circle his hole. Merlin gasps as Arthur carefully slides one finger in up to the first knuckle. “Relax,” Arthur murmurs into Merlin’s neck, “I’m not going to hurt you. If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” Merlin whispers, although honestly, he’s never had more than one finger there before, and that was a while ago and he’s afraid he won’t be able to do this. Arthur seems to understand and kisses his neck, staying with one finger until Merlin begins to relax and his breathing evens out. When Arthur adds the second finger, Merlin hums blissfully and enjoys the gentle warmth that floods through him with each thrust of Arthur’s fingers. He doesn’t even notice Arthur add the third, he just feels a second orgasm building and he bucks against Arthur’s hand, chasing the sensation, only to feel Arthur’s fingers vanish. At least this time he doesn’t come, but the sensation subsides and he moans regretfully.

Arthur’s gone, and Merlin’s eyes snap open in fear, but it’s just because Arthur is pulling off his shirt and unbuckling his belt. Merlin reaches out to help him and Arthur grabs his arms, and Merlin realizes that he wasn’t supposed to move them.

Fuck.

“I was just trying to—” he starts defensively, but Arthur’s not having any of it. He pins Merlin’s arms above his head again and stares down at him. Merlin closes his eyes and feels the sensation of the orgasm start to build again, just from seeing the anger in Arthur’s eyes.

“What did I tell you?” Arthur demands.

Merlin tries not to talk back but he’s been denied a proper orgasm twice now and he’s riled up again, so he says, “I don’t know, some shit about not moving my arms.”

Arthur looks furious. “I could leave you here right now.”

“You won’t,” Merlin retorts. “You need this as much as I do.” He’s confident that he’s right about this.

Arthur smirks. “Really. I won’t, you say.” He rolls off Merlin and stands up, buckling his belt again and grabbing his shirt. “Your choice, Merlin.”

“Wait, what?” Merlin sits up, dazed. He can’t believe this is actually happening. “Are you actually going to leave then?”

Arthur doesn’t answer, just pulls on his shirt and grabs his key. “Sleep well, Merlin,” he calls over his shoulder as he opens the door and heads out.

The door slams shut.

Merlin stares at it, unable to comprehend the full weight of the situation. After ten minutes pass and Arthur doesn’t come back, he throws himself down on the bed and lets out a frustrated scream, and starts to cry. He throws the bottle of lube over onto Arthur’s bed and pulls his blankets over himself, trying to ignore the aching sensation in his groin and stomach. He can’t even touch himself right now and expect any pleasure from it. He can’t believe Arthur would do this to him. He hates him, so much.

He cries himself out and somehow drifts into a fitful sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

When Merlin wakes up he’s in a terrible mood. He has a headache and he’s still in mild discomfort from the night before, and even a hot shower doesn’t really soothe him. The one good part of his morning is that he doesn’t see Arthur at all, not when he gets out of the shower and not when he goes down to breakfast to find Lancelot, Gwen, and Morgana sitting at a table together and looking generally hungover and dazed.

“Morning,” he says, plopping down next to Lancelot. Lancelot groans and thunks his head down on Merlin’s shoulder.

“Everything is so loud,” Morgana winces by way of greeting, rubbing her eyes.

“Have a good night, then?” Merlin teases half-heartedly, picking at his plate with a pair of chopsticks.

Lancelot flashes him a grin. “So good. So very fucking good.”

“Yes,” Gwen agrees, “good fucking.” She slips an arm around Morgana’s waist. Morgana tickles her and they fall sideways in the booth.

“You should join us next time,” Lancelot suggests. “But oh wait, you’ve got—speaking of, where’d you go last night? I saw you leaving with Arthur, and you’ve got some very, uh, interesting marks on your neck.”

Merlin scowls. “Shut up.”

Lancelot is about to needle Merlin further but then he obviously registers the way Merlin’s shoulders hunch in and his ears burn, and seems to sense that something bad happened and Merlin doesn’t want to discuss it. “Well, let me know, because my mouth is kind of tired from last night and I really don’t want to have to eat my mouthpiece at the end of the week.”

Merlin pokes viciously at some bok choy. “I’ll release you from that bet.”

Lancelot looks concerned. “Are you okay? Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Just drop it, please,” whispers Merlin. Lancelot hesitates, then nods.

Merlin has no appetite and he eventually gets up and discards his plate, and goes back up to the room to get his oboe case. He times it so he knows Arthur will already have left on his bus. When he gets back downstairs, Gwaine and Lancelot are waiting in the lobby again, laughing at another video, but Merlin doesn’t join them. He doesn’t even sit near them on the bus, although he’s aware that he shouldn’t be taking his frustration out on them. But he just wants to be alone right now.

He makes it through the morning rehearsal by keeping his head down and staying in his chair during the fifteen-minute break, working on reeds. Morgana and Gwaine don’t come up to him and he can’t decide whether he’s relieved or actually upset, and remembers what it was like the last time he didn’t talk to them for about a month. He promises himself that at lunchtime he’ll make sure they’re all on good terms, but he can’t bring himself to go backstage right now and maybe face Arthur.

The morning rehearsal ends too quickly for Merlin and he goes backstage as quickly as he can to put his oboe in his case. Before he can prepare himself to look for Gwaine, the trombonist appears in front of him and says two words that will never not make Merlin’s day better.

“Bubble tea?”

Merlin’s tension evaporates a bit and he grins. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

Gwaine slings an arm around Merlin’s neck and they go out into the corridor, where Lancelot is trying to convince Morgana that the water trumpet players empty out during rehearsal is condensation, not spit. “We’re going to get bubble tea,” Gwaine interrupts them. “Care to join? Or will you be fucking in a bathroom stall for the next hour?”

“No, we’ll be fucking in a bathroom stall for the next hour,” Morgana deadpans. Lancelot chokes.

“Suit yourselves.” Gwaine flips his hair and drags Merlin backstage. “Percy,” he yells.

The percussionists are standing in a group backstage. Arthur is absently tapping his marimba mallets against Percival’s back, as if he’s practicing, and Mordred is saying something about the placement of one of the gongs. They all turn at Gwaine’s voice and Merlin looks down and pulls the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands. He’s very grateful for the weight of Gwaine’s arm over his shoulders, supporting him.

“Hi,” Percival says, lighting up. “Sorry, we’re just discussing a couple of things. Can you wait for me?”

“As long as you like, sweetheart,” Gwaine answers, running his hand through his hair. Percival’s eyes follow the movement and then Arthur taps one mallet on Percival’s shoulder and Percival quickly turns back to the conversation.

“Are you going to ask all of them?” Merlin whispers to Gwaine. “Or just Percival?”

Gwaine looks at him, mildly surprised. “Percival and Arthur. Don’t worry, I’m not asking Mordred. That kid gives me the creeps.”

Merlin can’t help appreciating that, but then he says, trying to keep his voice unsuspicious, “Maybe I shouldn’t go, I have to make reeds and practice a bit and, you know, stuff.”

“But you love bubble tea.” Gwaine eyes him. “You never turn down bubble tea.”

“I …” Merlin doesn’t know how to excuse himself. Should he tell Gwaine? Would it ruin any opportunity of hanging out with Gwaine, if he knew that Merlin hated his boyfriend’s friend? Like properly hated, not just a vague rivalry?

“You’ve been sour all morning,” Gwaine says, turning to face Merlin fully. “What is it?”

Merlin struggles with an answer. “Just didn’t sleep well, I guess.”

“Bubble tea will help,” Gwaine promises, ruffling Merlin’s hair. “It always does.”

Merlin sighs. Maybe it will. Maybe he can just get bubble tea and not really talk to anyone, and if Arthur says anything he can just ignore him.

He doesn’t bet on Arthur ignoring him, although given their history he really should have prepared himself for that. Arthur and Percival and Gwaine are talking and laughing on the walk to the bubble tea place, and Merlin shoves his hands into his pockets and wishes he’d stayed at the concert hall. Even when they order the tea, and Percival and Gwaine catch a moment to kiss, Arthur doesn’t even acknowledge Merlin’s presence.

It would be really easy to hate Arthur right now, but he’s wearing a white v-neck and black skinny jeans that expose his perfect neck and collarbone and biceps and flatter his ass, and his hair looks silky and he has a ring on his index finger that Merlin has definitely noticed before but now it stands out because he can imagine it scraping over his own sensitive skin and if he doesn’t stop looking at Arthur he’s going to start drooling, so he looks away at Percival and Gwaine and feels a shudder run up his spine because they’re kissing and he wants to kiss Arthur and then he remembers the way Arthur teased him last night, sucking the life out of Merlin via his mouth, and he closes his eyes and firmly tells himself to stop this.

Honestly, he doesn’t think he can be around Arthur for another second, so he buys his bubble tea and mutters an excuse to Gwaine about reeds and makes his escape, walking as quickly as he can back along the sidewalk and trying to clear his head.

The rest of the rehearsal is a bit fraught, because the conductor is not getting what he wants from the orchestra and the concert is the next day. When everyone is finally heading back on the bus, Merlin can feel the exhaustion in the air. He’s not too concerned though, because there’s a superstition in the orchestral world that the day before the concert should be really bad so that the concert itself can be spectacular, and that’s almost always been the case for him.

Merlin was on the last bus going back, because the woodwinds convened after the rehearsal for a quick sectional, and when he gets back to the hotel he has a text from Lancelot saying that they’re going in the hot tub and Merlin should join. Merlin doesn’t need to ask who “they” are. He goes up to his room and is just holding the key up to the door when it bursts open, nearly hitting him in the face.

He stumbles back in shock and comes face to face with Mordred.

Mordred??

What the fuck?

Mordred eyes him and then glares and stalks down the corridor and out of sight. Merlin recovers partially and goes in, almost hesitating because this means that Arthur’s back and he really doesn’t want to see him but this is his room too, and he needs to get changed to go swimming.

Arthur is sitting on his bed, hair slightly messy, texting or something, and he looks up. “Hi Merlin,” he says, sounding a bit distracted. Merlin flings his oboe case on his bed and silently apologizes to its contents. Arthur looks at Merlin again when he doesn’t answer. “Something wrong?” he asks, in a tone that’s halfway between genuine concern and severe, or warning even.

“Nope,” Merlin says, popping the “p” in a way that he’s been told is highly unsavory.

“Merlin.” It’s definitely a warning tone. Merlin really shouldn’t ignore it, but he does, kneeling by his suitcase and searching through it.

“Merlin,” Arthur says again, a little louder. “Don’t ignore me.” The way he says it makes Merlin feel slightly ashamed.

“What?” he counters, with a bit too much attitude to claim the “nothing wrong” perspective.

“Is this because you saw Mordred?” Arthur asks, annoyingly perceptive. Merlin glares at him.

“Why would it be?”

“Okay, whatever you want.” Arthur rolls his eyes.

Merlin has a strong desire to throw something at Arthur, but he thinks it through and figures out that the aftermath would be pretty bad, so he slams the bathroom door instead. He changes quickly and puts a robe over his swim shorts, which are tight and extremely flattering. He could use this opportunity to taunt Arthur but the risk of him getting a boner while he’s walking past Arthur is too high.

When he leaves the bathroom, Arthur looks up. “Could you not slam the door, please?” he says with the tone of someone who is more mature and tired of a child’s antics. Merlin hates him for it.

“Oh, I’m sorry, what did you say? Could I slam the door louder? No problem.” He pulls the door shut behind him with a satisfying smack.

Arthur pins Merlin with his gaze and raises his eyebrows. Merlin’s body freezes up but he fights his way out of it and glares at Arthur, and snatches up his key and phone and heads purposefully for the door.

“Watch it,” Arthur calls after him. It’s just two words and it’s hardly a substantial threat but the meaning behind it makes Merlin’s blood run hot and cold. He rebels against the feeling and slams the room door on his way out.

By the time he gets down to the lobby and outside, he’s worked up and furious, and contemplating murdering Arthur. When he gets to the hot tub he finds Gwen and Morgana making out and Lancelot looking exhausted.

“Hi,” Lancelot says, perking up. Merlin gives him a half-hearted smile and takes off the robe. Lancelot sits up straighter. “Holy shit. Did Arthur see you like that? That’s sexy.”

Merlin groans and sinks into the hot water. “Arthur didn’t see anything. I don’t want to talk about him, he’s an arrogant prick who should have been drowned at birth.”

“Come on, you don’t mean that,” Lancelot says, nudging him. Merlin splashes Lancelot and then suddenly and unexpectedly dissolves into tears. “Oh shit,” Lancelot murmurs, all trace of teasing gone as he gathers Merlin into a hug. “It’s okay. It’s all right.”

Merlin heaves out sobs that he can barely breathe between. “He left me last night,” he chokes. “He just left, and he ruined my orgasm and he …” He can’t breathe anymore so he just clutches Lancelot tightly and buries his face in his shoulder.

Lancelot holds him, a solid comfort, and pats his back soothingly. “That’s a terrible thing to do,” he says, his tone still gentle but clearly acknowledging Merlin's distress.

“What? What happened? Oh my god, Merlin.” Morgana is suddenly there too, stroking Merlin’s hair. Gwen is holding his hand too and he feels overwhelmingly loved and that makes him cry harder.

“Arthur gave him a ruined orgasm and left him,” Lancelot explains quietly.

“That son of a bitch,” Morgana bites out.

“You did that to me,” Gwen points out, laughing a little.

“Yeah but I didn’t leave you after,” Morgana retorts.

Gwen sighs and squeezes Merlin’s hand. “Hey, listen. That was a shit thing of him to do, but I know Arthur. He probably did it as some form of punishment, and he’ll resolve it later.”

“I don’t want him to resolve it, I hate him,” Merlin says, his voice muffled in Lancelot’s neck.

“You don’t have to see him if you don’t want,” Lancelot offers. “You can stay with me tonight. I won’t leave you alone. Would that help?”

Merlin sniffles. “Yes. Thanks.”

Lancelot tightens his arms. “I’ve got you. I promise.”

Morgana growls. “I’ll hit him for you. You just wait.”

“Don’t hit him,” Gwen says gently. “Look, this is a thing Arthur and Merlin need to work through. If you get involved it’ll just push them apart.”

“I think it’ll probably just remind Arthur that he can’t be like that,” Lancelot suggests, still hugging Merlin.

“Yeah,” Morgana says, her tone biting. “Why are you protecting him, Gwen?”

“I’m just saying, maybe it’s not the right thing to hit him,” Gwen points out defensively.

“I don’t want them to talk about this anymore,” Merlin whispers to Lancelot. “Please, can you make them stop?”

“Okay let’s drop it,” Lancelot says, his tone commanding. Morgana and Gwen fall silent but Merlin can sense the tension between them. “New topic. Was that a shit rehearsal or what?”

“Totally shit,” Morgana agrees. They carefully fall into a conversation about the shittiness of the rehearsal and Merlin gradually calms down, but doesn’t leave the comfort of Lancelot’s arms. He just snuggles in there, drifting and enjoying the warmth of the water and the feeling of being safe.

He doesn’t go back to his room. Lancelot lends him some underwear and a night shirt, and they cuddle up in Lancelot’s bed with the permission of Lancelot’s roommate, and watch Good Omens until Merlin falls asleep.

*

Merlin is dreading going back to his room the next morning, but Arthur is in the shower when he goes in and Merlin decides that he’ll shower later, right before the concert, so he just gets dressed quickly and hurries downstairs before Arthur comes out of the bathroom. Lancelot is waiting for him and they eat breakfast together, Lancelot making sure that Merlin actually eats something. Morgana joins them looking very pleased with herself, and Gwen trails behind her with visible bite marks on her neck, and Merlin doesn’t need to wonder how they resolved their fight in the hot tub the day before.

The dress rehearsal that morning is much better than the previous afternoon, and Merlin doesn’t see Arthur in the dressing room so he’s already starting to feel better. Lancelot takes him outside before Gwaine can find him, and they meet up with Morgana and Gwen to go shopping. Merlin gets a text from Gwaine asking where he is but Merlin doesn’t answer it. If Gwaine were to come and find them, he’d probably bring Percival, and that might mean Arthur will be with them, and would ruin Merlin’s day.

Morgana comments that she got a text from Gwaine saying that he and Percival are going to get massages and not to forget that they have to eat Gwaine’s edibles tonight. Merlin is actually excited about that so he perks up even more, and by the time they get back to the hotel to get changed for the concert, Merlin’s spirits are surprisingly high.

He showers, humming, and comes out of the room to find that Arthur’s obviously been in and left again. That’s a relief, and when Merlin checks the time he sees that the percussion bus would have left already so there’s no danger of Arthur coming back. He gets dressed, puts on a little Dior Homme, and grabs his case and goes down to the lobby, feeling dashing and alert and in the performance mood.

Lancelot and Morgana are waiting for him. Gwen’s not with them, and Morgana explains that she and Gwen had a bit of a fight. Merlin hopes it wasn’t over him. Morgana reads his expression and clarifies that it was over Lancelot, and that Gwen can’t really do the threesome thing right now. Merlin can tell that both Lancelot and Morgana are a bit upset by this, so he reminds them that they’ll all be going clubbing tonight and they can have a great time with or without her. They seem to cheer up at this a little bit.

“And weed,” Morgana says. “I can’t wait to see what you’ll be like high.”

“You’re going to love it,” Lancelot tells Merlin, grinning.

They get on the bus and head over to the concert hall. Merlin’s nerves are vibrating a bit now, but he always gets nervous before a concert so he’s not really bothered by it. Lancelot and Morgana are play-fighting as they get off the bus and Merlin leaves them to it, heading straight into the building and making his way through the backstage area to the dressing rooms.

As luck would have it, Arthur, Percival, and Gwaine are standing in the hall between the stage door and the men’s dressing room. Arthur is demonstrating to Gwaine how he gives Percival a massage with his marimba mallets and Merlin watches as Arthur hands the four sticks to Gwaine and shows him how to hold them. Gwaine nearly drops one and laughs his head off, and Arthur catches sight of Merlin and his eyebrows shoot up, his blue eyes filling with shock and maybe relief. Gwaine and Percival turn too and Gwaine says, “Merlin! There you are, I was texting you all day.”

Merlin ducks his head and tries to walk past, but Gwaine pulls him into a hug and thwacks his head.

“Seriously, I was worried. Is your phone not getting a signal or something?”

“Uh,” Merlin manages, and his eyes dart to Arthur without his meaning to. Arthur is watching him, any trace of the relief Merlin had thought he saw in Arthur’s eyes gone and replaced with amusement. Merlin stiffens and pulls out of Gwaine’s grip, and walks up to Arthur and slaps him.

Merlin has never before in his life hit anyone and he can’t believe he’s slapped Arthur now twice in the space of two days. Arthur recovers from the blow and grabs Merlin’s wrists, preventing him from slapping him again. Gwaine and Percival are watching in shocked silence.

“Careful,” Arthur hisses, “don’t make a scene. Now is not the time to behave like a child.”

“Fuck you,” growls Merlin. “You’re a selfish arrogant piece of shit and if you don’t wipe that condescending smirk off your face right now I’ll do it for you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Arthur chuckles, his grip tightening on Merlin’s wrists as Merlin struggles to free himself. “Come on, don’t make me do something I’ll regret. You want to look presentable for all the hundreds of donors coming to tonight’s concert, don’t you? You don’t want to damage your career before you’ve even graduated.”

“You do anything to me, ever again, and I’ll rip off your dick,” Merlin says viciously. Arthur laughs in his face and releases him with a shove, sending him sprawling back into Gwaine. Gwaine thankfully catches him and steadies him.

“Get a hold of yourself,” Arthur says, pointing a warning finger in Merlin’s face. Merlin moves to hit him again, but Gwaine hauls Merlin aside and drags him into the dressing room.

When they’re inside he demands, “What the hell happened?”

“Nothing,” snaps Merlin.

“Obviously something happened,” Gwaine retorts. “Is this why you haven’t been texting me?”

Merlin feels his eyes burn with impending tears. “I’m sorry Gwaine, I didn’t mean to drag you into this but I can’t spend any time with him and you’re always with him and I didn’t want to get in the way of you and Percival—”

“Hey,” Gwaine interrupts, pulling Merlin into a hug. “You wouldn’t ever get in the way. You should have just told me and then I’d have made sure he didn’t come with us. Honestly. Or I’d say he and Percival can hang out while I’m with you.”

“Sorry,” Merlin mumbles into Gwaine’s shoulder, holding back his tears because he doesn’t want to ruin Gwaine’s jacket right before a concert and he doesn’t want to get dehydrated from crying.

“Did something happen, then?” Gwaine asks, stepping back and adjusting Merlin’s collar.

“Yeah.” Merlin hesitates. “It’s just, you know. Well.”

“Sex?” Gwaine guesses. “Did he hurt you? I swear to god, if he hurt you—”

“No,” Merlin says hurriedly. “Well, not physically.” He tells Gwaine everything, in more detail than what he’d told Lancelot, and Gwaine listens patiently and then grins cockily.

“Wow, I had no idea you were that kinky.”

Merlin shoves him, but it’s lightened the mood and he appreciates that. “I just don’t know how to deal with it. I avoided him all day yesterday and today and stayed with Lancelot last night.”

“Ooh,” crows Gwaine, “a double whammy.”

“We did not,” hisses Merlin. “We just hung out. Jesus, Gwaine.”

“Fine, fine.” Gwaine holds up his hands. “You know what you should do? Ignore Arthur and make out with someone else in front of him.”

“That won’t work,” Merlin says. “He’d just do that to me as well and we’d spend all night seeing who caves first and neither of us will and I’ll be as miserable as I was before.”

“Wow, intense,” Gwaine comments cheekily. “Maybe you should just give in and beg like he wants.”

“No fucking way,” Merlin clarifies. Gwaine laughs.

“Okay, how about this? You don’t think about it too much, enjoy the concert, and we’ll go to the reception and do the countdown and you find him and kiss him and make up?”

“We’re never going to make up.” Merlin feels the impact of what he’s saying roll over him like a very slow cold wave. “He doesn’t even like me, he literally hates me and I hate him and there’s none of that romantic energy.” He sighs and looks down at his oboe case.

“I think you’re wrong,” Gwaine says thoughtfully. “But I can’t tell you what to do. Let’s talk later. At least I can help you get high and forget about it, after the reception.”

Merlin smiles wanly. “Looking forward to it.”

*

The concert is a massive success. There are five curtain calls and Merlin doesn’t think he’s ever experienced more than two in his entire career of playing or watching classical performances, other than opera. The whole experience leaves him on a bit of a high. He and Lancelot and Morgana leave their instruments at the concert hall so they can easily go out clubbing later, and feed off each other’s energy on the way to the reception, talking about how they can barely believe the enthusiasm of the audience and how it makes everything they do so much more meaningful.

The reception is in a hotel, on the mezzanine floor in an enormous conference room. There are dozens of round tables in the room, and Merlin sits with Lancelot and Morgana. He looks around for Gwaine as the room fills up with musicians, but he doesn’t see him anywhere. He doesn’t see Arthur either. Not that he was looking, because he definitely wasn’t.

The conductor gives a speech in English with a Chinese translator, and servers bring out food like chicken feet and pig guts and other things that Merlin would have tried just to say he tried them, if he wasn’t vegetarian. Morgana force-feeds Lancelot some gut and Lancelot refuses to pour her any wine until she sneaks her hand under the table. He immediately fills her glass.

There’s a bottle of baijiu on every table and Merlin takes it and fills his shot glass and Morgana’s. They match each other shot for shot and they’ve reached twelve when the conductor starts the countdown.

Merlin registers the importance of the moment. He feels panic rising in his chest and looks around for Arthur, but he can’t see him anywhere. Everyone is shouting, “Ten, nine, eight,” and Morgana is handing him a glass of wine so that he’ll be ready for the toast, and he just feels numb, regret and distress mixing with the buzz of the alcohol and the excitement of everyone around him getting louder as they scream out the last few numbers and erupt into cheers.

Morgana kisses Lancelot and he wraps his arms around her, burying his hands in her long hair. He looks ecstatic. Other people around Merlin are hugging and kissing, and Morgana and Lancelot break apart to hug Merlin, and he hugs them back without registering it because his mind is fixed on the fact that Arthur isn’t with him and he realizes how much Arthur means to him.

“Let’s go and find Gwaine,” Morgana says, tugging Merlin’s hand. He stumbles after her, clutching his glass, vaguely aware of some people toasting him along the way so he raises his glass back to them, and suddenly Morgana stops and says, “Happy New Year, Gwaine,” and throws her arm around Gwaine’s neck and kisses him on the mouth.

Merlin sees Percival laughing behind Gwaine, and when Morgana releases Gwaine he says, “I suppose I’ll have to do one better than that,” before pulling Gwaine down into his lap and kissing him.

Morgana grins at Merlin and Merlin registers that she’s totally drunk. He’s only just realized this before she turns around again and Merlin sees Arthur standing up, exactly one second before Morgana slides her free hand up Arthur’s biceps to his neck and kisses him.

And Arthur returns the kiss with as much heat as Morgana is giving him.

Merlin flees. He goes downstairs and out into the open air, and leans against the wall, gasping. His face is wet and he realizes that he’s crying, and he wipes angrily at his cheeks and digs into his pocket for the emergency cigarettes he keeps in his concert pants at all times. He pulls one out. He just wants the taste, and the smell. He doesn’t have a lighter though, but there’s a man smoking a bit further from the doors, so he goes over to him and gestures politely to his cigarette and makes a flicking motion.

The man understands, smiles at him, and lights Merlin’s cigarette. Merlin thanks him, the only phrase he knows in Chinese, and goes back to the wall and slumps against it. He bites viciously down on the cigarette and sucks too much into his mouth, so that some of it accidentally goes down his windpipe and he coughs.

“Merlin?”

He turns. Gwaine and Percival have just come outside.

“Are you inhaling?” Gwaine demands incredulously. “After I quit, you start smoking properly?”

“No,” wheezes Merlin, “accident.”

Gwaine pounds him on the back. Percival stays a few paces away, to avoid the smoke, and Merlin carefully blows out away from Percival.

“We, uh, saw you leave when Morgana kissed Arthur,” Percival says gently.

“Whatever,” Merlin mutters.

“He’s just like that,” offers Percival. “Very sexual. I guess you know,” he adds guiltily.

“I don’t care,” Merlin lies. Percival and Gwaine look like they don’t believe him. “Happy New Year,” Merlin continues in an attempt to prove he doesn’t care, but they just look sympathetic. Merlin can’t deal with this. “So, what’s the plan for tonight?” he asks, desperate to change the subject.

“Clubbing and some New Years fun,” Gwaine says, which is obviously code for weed.

“We’re going with Arthur and Morgana and Lance,” Percival says. “We’re hoping you’ll join us.”

“I’m not missing clubbing just because of Arthur.” Merlin takes another puff.

“Good.” Gwaine ruffles Merlin’s hair. “But, just … I don’t think Morgana will be able to look out for you because she’s completely gone, and Lancelot is going to be all over her, and Percival and I plan on letting loose a bit, so can you handle it on your own?”

“If I need to leave, I’ll text you,” Merlin promises. “And we can meet back at the hotel.”

“You should make sure you leave with someone,” Percival interjects. “I’m not keen on staying long, so maybe if you can hold out for an hour, I’ll take you back?”

“You should stay with Arthur,” Gwaine tells him. “I’ll take Merlin back if it gets bad, and we’ll go to the bar and hang out on the terrace and do, you know. And you can join us when you get back.” Percival nods.

“Thank you,” Merlin says, feeling overwhelmed by their support and also feeling bad that he would be ruining their evening. “I really don’t want to cut your night short though.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Gwaine says. “I’d rather be high sooner rather than later anyway.”

Percival wraps his arms around Gwaine. “We’ll do some sensation play tonight.”

Merlin is about to say that he didn’t need to hear that but after his altercation with Arthur earlier, he doesn’t feel that he’s in a position to talk. He just takes another inhale and grins at them as Percival begins tickling Gwaine and Gwaine lets out an un-Gwaine-ly shriek.

The sliding doors open and Arthur and Lancelot support Morgana outside. When she sees the other three she shouts, “Happy New Year!” and waves enthusiastically. Merlin blows his smoke out and Arthur locks eyes with him. Merlin freezes. God, he’s getting tired of that reaction when it leads to nothing.

“The club is this way,” Percival says, grabbing Gwaine’s hand and threading their fingers together, and leading the way to the sidewalk. Lancelot picks Morgana up and she wraps her arms around his neck. Arthur turns to Merlin, plucks the cigarette from between his fingers, and takes a long drag.

“Did I say you could have some?” Merin demands, falling into step next to him.

Arthur holds out the cigarette without responding. Merlin sighs and takes it back, only to find that Arthur’s not letting go. He looks up into Arthur’s eyes and melts a bit at the intensity in them.

“If you want it back,” Arthur says conversationally, “you’ll have to earn it.”

“It’s literally mine,” Merlin protests, trying not to get hard at what Arthur just said.

“Is it?” Arthur asks coolly, taking another drag.

Merlin takes the pack out of his pocket. “Fine, I’ll just get another.” He takes one out and grabs Arthur’s arm, stopping him. “Help me light it.”

Arthur leans in and holds the tip of Merlin’s old cigarette up to the new one dangling from Merlin’s lips. Merlin feels the beginning of a cascade of sparks in his stomach and inhales, lighting his cigarette from Arthur’s. Arthur takes the cigarette out of his mouth and slips his arm around Merlin’s waist, brushing his lips over Merlin’s neck. Merlin’s breath hitches and he takes the new cigarette out of his mouth so he can turn his head and bury his face in Arthur’s hair.

“Still upset?” Arthur murmurs into Merlin’s collarbone.

“Yeah, I hate you,” Merlin gasps out, inhaling Arthur’s scent. It’s overwhelmingly good.

“Fine,” Arthur says, and releases Merlin.

“No, wait, come back,” Merlin pleads, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck. Arthur chuckles and complies, sliding one arm around Merlin’s waist and burying the other hand in Merlin’s hair, tugging lightly.

“Why don’t you tell me how much you hate me,” he suggests, biting Merlin’s neck over one of the bruises he’d left two nights ago.

“Um,” Merlin says, losing his mind at an alarm rate. Arthur sucks on the bite and Merlin gasps, losing his grip on Arthur’s jacket collar. Arthur catches him as his knees buckle and lifts him.

“Wrap your legs around my waist.”

Merlin does what he’s told right away and clings to Arthur. Arthur grips his ass with one hand and supports his back with the other arm, and nibbles at his earlobe, sending thrills down Merlin’s neck.

“Oi!” shouts Gwaine. “Are you two coming or not?”

Arthur exhales against Merlin’s neck and then carefully lets him down, steadying him. “Coming,” he calls, walking away from Merlin to join the others. He doesn’t even look back. Merlin stares after him, suddenly really angry, because he can’t believe Arthur is so insensitive that he’ll get Merlin worked up and just leave him without even checking to see that he’s all right, or giving him anything to look forward to. It makes Merlin feel like a toy instead of a person, something that he hates more than anything, because it’s so degrading. He’s not going to let Arthur touch him ever again, he swears to himself.

*

The club that Percival leads them to is extremely popular. Inside every surface is covered by dancing or writhing bodies. Merlin gets separated from the group by the flow of people moving around the edge of the room, and when he tries to fight his way through them there’s absolutely no give. A man gropes him in passing and Merlin can’t even see who it is.

It’s been one minute and Merlin already hates this. He forces his way back to the entrance and goes outside, and slumps into a chair at one of the tables in the open air front of the club. There are a lot of people around him smoking so he takes a new cigarette out and again asks for a light, and then takes a drag and leans his forehead on the table.

How did this night get so bad? How did this whole tour get so miserable? He feels like he should be celebrating, enjoying the success of the concert and the excitement of the new year, but none of it means anything to him right now. He’s seriously contemplating going back to the hotel now, without telling Gwaine just so he doesn’t interrupt his night, and maybe texting when he’s back, but he feels like being back at the hotel won’t be any better and he doesn’t want to waste his night sitting in his room feeling like utter crap. At least if he’s sitting here feeling like utter crap, he’ll have a story to tell for New Years Eve in China. Although technically, it’s the New Year now.

He contemplates his life. He’s been out and single for ages, and while all of his friends get into relationships or take advantage of threesomes and seem to have a good time, he ends up with, to be fair, the most attractive man he’s ever seen, but in a situation that sort of destroys his life. He wonders if he’s brought it on himself, just because of the way he is and what he’s interested in. His own inability to submit out of pride and his need to be dominated in order to feel that particular thrill. That doesn’t give him many options.

Maybe if he sits here for an hour, and then goes back to the hotel with Gwaine to get high, he’ll forget about all of this, he thinks. Maybe what he needs is just to try out some new drug and get a different perspective on his situation and then have a talk with Arthur and tell him that they should stop doing this, because it’s unhealthy for Merlin. It would mean sacrificing all the building sexual tension but it really feels like that will never be resolved and Merlin wants to stop crying over it.

Lancelot and Morgana come outside and share a cigarette, oblivious to Merlin. Morgana pushes Lancelot up against the side of the building and kisses him ferociously, and the action reminds Merlin so much of Arthur that his head starts spinning. And he remembers why he can’t tell Arthur to stop, because even though Arthur always inevitably leaves him hanging, it feels so good in the moment and that’s possibly worth it.

Time passes. Morgana and Lancelot go back inside. Merlin contemplates trying out the club again but he doesn’t get up, just sits staring blankly at the cigarette as he makes his way slowly through it. He taps it, watching the embers crumble off the edge onto the table, and jerks his head up when he hears Gwaine yelling his name.

“Oh there you are,” Gwaine says, grabbing his arm and hauling him to his feet. “Hotel?”

“Definitely,” Merlin says, grinding the cigarette under his heel and following Gwaine to a cab.

“What happened with Arthur back there?” teases Gwaine when they’re in the taxi.

“The usual,” Merlin sighs.

“That’s your usual?” Gwaine lightly punches Merlin’s arm with both fists repeatedly. “Damn boy.”

“It’s not good,” Merlin points out. “I mean, it’s good, but then it’s really shit afterwards.”

“You two are into some kinky shit,” Gwaine says unsympathetically.

“I’m not into it,” Merlin protests.

“Yes you absolutely are.”

“Well I’m into it while it’s happening but not the …” Merlin trails off.

“You both like hate sex,” Gwaine states. “I bet my trombone he fucks you tonight.”

“I don’t want your trombone, I don’t think anyone does,” Merlin throws back at him, grinning at the thought.

“Then you’d better hope he fucks you tonight.”

“I’m going to put an end to it,” Merlin says, lying through his teeth.

“Sure you are. I see how strong your resolve is,” Gwaine comments.

“Shut up.”

When they get back to the hotel, they go straight to Gwaine’s room for an unsuspicious bag of chocolates, and then up to the bar. It’s closed, because it’s already 2am, so they go down to the pool area instead and sit on recliners. Gwaine opens the bag and takes out one piece of chocolate.

“Half each,” he says, biting into the chocolate and feeding Merlin the other half.

Merlin chews contemplatively. “Tastes normal.”

“That’s the point,” Gwaine tells him. He leans back and puts his feet up. “It’ll kick in in about 30 minutes and then last for a few hours.”

Merlin lies back too and stares up at the clear starry sky. “What will it feel like?”

“You’ll probably be very aware of your skin,” Gwaine says. “And you might think everything is funny. Or you might just get really really deep and start saying profound things that mean nothing.”

“Like you always do,” Merlin snorts. Gwaine biffs his arm lightly. They lie there in companionable silence for a while and Merlin begins to relax.

“We should have gone in the hot tub,” Gwaine says dreamily. “Just imagine … hot water … like hot but not too hot, perfectly hot, you know?”

Merlin giggles.

“I’m feeling it,” Gwaine notes. “You feeling it yet?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin responds. “I feel like I could absolutely walk in a straight line.” He moves to stand up and misjudges the distance to the ground, and falls off the recliner. “What the fuck,” he says, bursting into giggles.

Gwaine starts laughing uncontrollably. “Oh my god, you all right?”

“The ground wasn’t that close before,” Merlin winces. He peels himself up and collapses back onto the recliner. The skin on his chest is burning pleasantly and he feels like his heart is expanding to engulf the entire hotel, like he’s being pulled up to look at it all without seeing it. He absently touches his neck and becomes hyper aware of the bite marks. They feel good, like little pleasure points humming into his skin.

“Hot water would be hot,” he says, referring to Gwaine’s earlier statement.

“Yes,” Gwaine agrees.

Merlin hears footsteps and Percival calling “Gwaine?” softly. “We’re here,” he says, trying to wave and finding that his hand looks incredible framed by the stars, so he just stares at it.

“Hi,” Gwaine says, properly waving. He shifts over so Percival can sit next to him.

Merlin feels a shadow leaning over his head and looks up to see Arthur, who is resting his hands on the head of the recliner. It’s too dark to see his expression, and Merlin is feeling too good to glare at him, so he just peaceably smiles.

“It’s his first time getting high,” Gwaine says, gesturing vaguely, and then tugs Percival forward by his lapels. “Come on baby, I need you.”

Percival laughs quietly. “Bedtime?”

Gwaine groans. “Why can’t we just do it here?”

Percival stands up and picks Gwaine up like he weighs nothing. Merlin is very impressed.

“Night, Arthur,” Percival says. “I have to take care of this one. Look after Merlin, will you?”

“Course,” Arthur says. “See you tomorrow.”

“I don’t need looking after,” Merlin announces. “I’m quite able to look after myself, thank you very much.”

“Is that the first time you’ve thanked me?” muses Arthur.

Merlin opens and shuts his mouth. “It’ll be the last,” he comes up with.

Arthur laughs. “I would love to see your face when I prove you wrong.”

Every nerve in Merlin’s body hums in response and he feels like he’s glowing.

“Come on,” Arthur says, reaching down and hauling Merlin bodily up to his feet. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Merlin leans against him, getting his bearings, and lets Arthur guide him back inside the hotel. While they’re waiting for the elevator, he plays with the sleeves of his jacket. He glances at Arthur, still leaning into his side.

“What?” asks Arthur, sounding amused.

“You’re a terrible person,” Merlin tells him.

Arthur looks like he’s fighting back a smile. “If I were a terrible person I’d leave you here and let you spend the entire night trying to find the way back to our room.”

“I could find my way back,” Merlin scoffs. “Easily.”

“Sure.” Arthur pulls him gently into the elevator. “Which floor are we on, then?”

“Eight, duh,” Merlin says, pressing the button and looking at Arthur impishly.

“Very good.” Arthur looks relieved, which Merlin is surprised by. “So you’re not completely intoxicated.”

“I’m just high,” Merlin protests. “And a tiny bit drunk maybe.”

The elevator dings and opens at their floor.

“Walk in a straight line, then,” Arthur says, letting go of Merlin.

Merlin is pretty proud of the fact that he does, in fact, walk out of the elevator in a straight line. He even makes it to the room, and finds his key in his pocket. The real trouble comes when he’s trying to open the door. He pulls several times, frustrated, until Arthur, struggling not to laugh, nudges him aside and pushes open the door.

“It was pull before,” Merlin says critically.

“It was never a pull door,” Arthur says, dragging Merlin inside and shutting the door.

Merlin leans against him, relishing in the sensation of Arthur against his skin. Arthur sighs and walks him backward toward his bed, and guides him to lie down.

“I don’t want to lie down,” Merlin says, pressing his hands to his temples. “This feels too good.”

“What does?” Arthur asks, taking off Merlin’s dress shoes and socks.

“Everything.” Merlin tries to figure out how to explain.

“I remember what that’s like,” Arthur comments.

“You should have joined us,” Merlin says, staring dazedly up at the ceiling.

“You didn’t ask me to.”

That was true. “Well, you hate me anyway,” Merlin countered, “so you wouldn’t have said yes.” He was aware that it wasn’t an argument that really made sense

“What are you talking about? I don’t hate you.” Arthur helps Merlin sit up and holds out a cup of water. “Drink.”

Merlin obeys him, and then gets back to the issue at hand. “Yes you do.”

“Because I didn’t let you come?”

Merlin feels his face heat up. “That, and other things.”

Arthur takes the now empty cup out of his hands. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know, be less of an ass?” suggests Merlin, his anger flaring up a bit.

“I will, once you stop being a brat.”

“Oh, what, just because I have a mind of my own, suddenly I’m not allowed to come?” Merlin demands, glaring up at Arthur.

“Is that what you want?” Arthur asks, turning around to put the cup on the bedside table, and then leaning over Merlin and making him fall back onto his elbows. Arthur braces his hands on either side of Merlin’s body. “You want me to make you come?”

Merlin doesn’t dare breathe.

“Answer me,” Arthur warns.

“Yes,” whispers Merlin.

Arthur hesitates, looking past Merlin out the window. Then he says, “Get in the shower.” Merlin scowls and is about to talk back, but Arthur interrupts him with, “Now, Merlin,” and the authority in his tone forces Merlin into action. He slips out from under Arthur’s arms and shrugs out of his suit jacket. Arthur takes it from him and puts it on its hanger, and the action makes Merlin feel warm inside. He unbuttons his shirt and tosses it on the bed, and Arthur sighs and picks that up too. Merlin grins and is about to throw his trousers on the bed as well when Arthur says, “Fold them.”

“You do it,” Merlin says defiantly. Arthur fixes him with a pointed stare.

“I thought you wanted to come.”

“I—” Merlin bites his tongue and folds the trousers carefully. Then he turns and walks into the bathroom.

“Boxers,” Arthur calls after him.

“I’ll take them off in here,” Merlin counters. “Can’t show you everything right away, can I?”

“You really want to make this difficult, don’t you?”

“It is awfully fun,” Merlin says, and shuts the bathroom door. He takes a minute to collect himself. He’s very aware of the cold air against his skin and his senses are all searing with excitement. He has no idea what his punishment is going to be but he’s pretty sure Arthur won’t refuse to let him come again. That would be too predictable, and Arthur wouldn’t have asked him if he wanted to come if he was planning on refusing. Probably, anyway, Merlin thinks uncertainly.

He takes off his boxers and tosses them under the sink, and gets in the shower. The water is freezing when he turns it on and it hurts a bit, but it warms up quickly and then it’s absolutely perfect. Merlin leans against the wall and sighs, enjoying the warm water running over him mixed with his heightened sensitivity.

The shower door opens and suddenly Arthur is there, trapping Merlin against the wall and kissing his neck. Merlin, ordinarily sensitive in that spot, lets out a high-pitched moan and hooks his leg around one of Arthur’s to pull him closer. His body lights up everywhere their skin is touching. Arthur laughs delightedly.

“Promise,” Merlin gasps, “promise you won’t leave me.”

Arthur pulls back and looks into his eyes. “I won’t leave you.” Merlin sighs and wraps his arms around him, and then Arthur says, “but you might want me to, so I’m not promising anything.”

“I won’t want you to,” Merlin says, confused.

“You might,” Arthur warns, pinning Merlin’s wrists above his head with one hand and taking Merlin’s cock in the other, stroking it slowly.

“I can’t imagine where you’d get that idea,” Merlin gasps, barely able to formulate a complete sentence because it feels so good. Arthur bites his neck and picks up the pace.

“Keep talking back,” he whispers into Merlin’s ear. It sounds like a challenge.

“Why? What are you going to do to me?” Merlin demands, throwing his head back against the shower wall and bucking into Arthur’s hand.

“You’ll find out soon,” Arthur says, sounding way too calm in comparison to how Merlin feels. Already his orgasm is approaching, his spine locking up and his body on fire. When Merlin comes, he comes so hard that he feels like he’s been pulled out of his body and up into the stars.

As he comes back down he realizes Arthur hasn’t stopped stroking him, although he’s slowed down. Merlin whimpers and tries to shift away from Arthur, but Arthur traps one of his legs with his knee and presses his wrists harder into the wall.

“What are you doing?” Merlin whispers.

“You asked to come,” Arthur says conversationally. “You didn’t specify how many times.”

“Fuck,” hisses Merlin. He’s too sensitive now and it hurts but somehow he’s hard again. “Arthur, please.”

“Please what?” Arthur asks innocently, pressing his forehead to Merlin’s. “Please, you want to come again?”

Merlin groans. “You utter prick.”

“Hmm,” Arthur responds, stroking Merlin faster. Merlin cries out. “Say that again.”

“Fuck me,” Merlin begs, and is shocked that the words just spilled out. He opens his mouth to say something scathing to diminish the effect of them, but catches himself. He does want Arthur to fuck him. He whimpers as Arthur slows his hand and stops stroking him, smoothing his hand over Merlin’s shaking hips and under the curve of his ass.

Merlin jerks when Arthur slides one finger in without lube. It’s painful but it’s brilliant at the same time, and Arthur finds the perfect angle on the fifth thrust. Merlin feels the second orgasm building on him too quickly, almost like it’s ripping his body apart into hundreds of tiny sparks of pleasure. He’s dimly aware of Arthur adding a second finger and pumping in and out of him faster, and then the orgasm hits him and he screams, practically blacking out for a few seconds.

Arthur pulls his fingers out of him slowly and peels him off the wall, wrapping his arm around his waist and letting his arms down. Merlin sags against him, dazed. Arthur turns off the water and opens the shower door, and supports Merlin out. He wraps a towel around him and leads him into the bedroom. “Lie down,” he says gently, and Merlin collapses onto his bed, too exhausted to do more than obey. Arthur disappears and Merlin panics, thinking he’s leaving again, but Arthur reappears moments later, toweling himself off.

“I bet you think you made up for the other night,” gasps Merlin, because he hasn’t fully come back to himself yet but he can’t help needling Arthur anyway.

Arthur’s lips quirk. “You always have something to say, don’t you?”

“Would you rather I didn’t talk?” Merlin rolls into his side to watch as Arthur wraps the towel and around his waist and kneels by his suitcase.

“If I say yes, what will you do?” Arthur asks, sounding amused, searching through his suitcase.

Merlin thinks about it. “I think you like it,” he suggests, pulling his towel more tightly around him.

Arthur laughs but doesn’t rise to the bait.

“So when are you going to fuck me, then?” Merlin asks interestedly.

Arthur looks up at him in surprise. “You’ve just had two orgasms in a row and you’re far too sensitive, even without weed. You can’t go through anything more tonight.”

“I’m not a child,” Merlin says indignantly. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“I’m not going to fuck you tonight,” Arthur tells him, firmly. Merlin glares and rolls onto his back.

“Then it’s not happening any other time either,” he says.

“Don’t be a brat, Merlin,” Arthur sighs.

“I’m not. Just stating the truth.”

“You are.”

Merlin sits up and throws the pad of paper next to the phone at Arthur. It doesn’t hit him, because Merlin can’t throw for shit, but its effect is the desired one. Arthur stands up immediately and stalks over to him, but instead of getting on the bed, he pulls Merlin to his feet and drags him into the bathroom.

“I think I won that,” Merlin says cheekily. Arthur doesn’t answer, just forces Merlin to stand facing the bathroom counter with his hands on the marble, and presses up against his back and takes him in his hand again. “Wait, no,” Merlin cries breathlessly, as Arthur pumps him hard and fast. He struggles but Arthur has him caged in and he doesn’t have any forward or backward leeway, and he can do nothing except cry and plead with Arthur until he’s coming again, so hard it’s almost painful, and he collapses forward onto the counter with a whimper, feeling tears slide down his cheeks again.

“Don’t ever challenge me,” Arthur whispers in his ear, releasing him and disappearing into the bedroom. Merlin can’t move and he can barely think, either, about anything except the intensity of the orgasm and the discomfort he’s in. He must have stayed there for ages before he finally has the strength to push himself upright and stagger back into the bedroom. The lights are out and Arthur’s lying in his own bed, his back to Merlin.

Merlin collapses into his bed, fuming and hurt and frustrated that he goes to sleep like this every single night. He tosses and turns, unable to get comfortable, even after he comes down from the high of the weed, and doesn’t fall asleep until the light is sneaking in through the window and he’s too exhausted to care about his discomfort.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Merlin wakes up, the sun is already pretty high overhead and the time on his phone when he checks it reads 11:15am. He groans, because he always feels shitty and dried out and groggy when he sleeps in, but he also didn’t sleep well so he feels tired still. A glance over his shoulder confirms that Arthur is not in the room, and he’s pretty upset because he would have liked to maybe confront him about last night instead of having it hanging over his head all day.

He’s wondering if he should stay in bed, feeling miserable, or get up and take a shower and try to do something with all the free time until the second concert tonight, when a text comes through from Gwen asking if he’s free and can talk to her. Another one follows it: “I’m really upset about Morgana and I know you’ll understand.”

Merlin sits up quickly and texts back, “Of course, where,” and Gwen tells him she’s in the hot tub, so he gets up and puts on his swim shorts and robe and goes down.

Gwen is sitting in the hot water alone, staring dismally at nothing, hugging her knees and resting her chin on them. Merlin hangs his robe up on the stand by the hot tub and sinks into the water beside her. She glances at him with a small smile and he puts aside his own distress for now because this is calm, strong Gwen and right now she’s trying to make herself as small as possible and he can’t have that.

“Hey,” he says, resting his head on her shoulder. She leans her head on his, and they sit silently for a long time. Merlin almost falls asleep, to be honest, because the water is the perfect temperature and is soothing the aches in his body, but he makes himself stay awake for the moment when Gwen feels like talking.

“I told Morgana I don’t want to have sex with her anymore,” she finally says. Merlin knew that already but he stays quiet, so she knows it’s all right to continue. “It’s just. I felt like she and Lancelot were getting along really well and I had this feeling that they’d get tired of me, and I didn’t want it to get to that point. It’s better now. It just hurts, you know …”

Merlin squeezes her arm instead of nodding because he doesn’t want her to move her head. “Do you regret it?”

“No. Yes.” She sighs. “I mean, I miss the sex. It was really good. With both of them. Morgana’s a top and Lance is a switch, so you know. I was properly taken care of.”

Merlin giggles and Gwen swats him. “I didn’t even say anything,” he protests, and then adds, seriously, “Did you really think they’d get tired of you? They seemed really into it, and they were so sad yesterday.”

“Everyone gets tired of me,” Gwen says.

“I can’t believe that’s true.”

“No, really.” Gwen studies her hands. “Every single partner. They all say I don’t care enough about them. They get fed up with me wanting to keep everything open, or they don’t like how I won’t argue. I avoid conflict because it’s really triggering for me, like that …” She hesitates. “Like that thing with you and Arthur, when I said he has particular reasons for the way he is? I would try and understand, and then forgive him, but the people I’m with don’t like that. They want to fight with me. Or, if it’s something more open, they say I need too much care and attention at the wrong times, and they don’t have the energy. Not that I blame them,” she adds quickly, and breaks off, staring at her hands and worrying the skin around the nails.

Merlin reaches out for one of her hands and she gives it to him. “Sounds like you’ve been with a whole bunch of assholes,” he remarks. She huffs a laugh. “Really though, I don’t know much about open relationships but I would assume there has to be some kind of mutual understanding that when people need care, they need care.”

“Maybe,” she says.

“And there’s nothing wrong with not wanting conflict,” Merlin tells her, squeezing her hand. “That’s healthy.”

“You like fighting,” she comments.

“How did you know?” he demands, sitting up straighter.

Gwen laughs a little. “Arthur told me.”

Merlin is about to say something rude about Arthur but decides that now is not the time. “Doesn’t matter. That’s just my kink, and there’s nothing wrong with it as long as there’s plenty of communication.” Which there isn’t right now, but that’s not the point. “Anyway, Morgana didn’t know why you’d broken things off, not really. And I know her. She cares about you enormously. Lance does too. Maybe you could talk to them about it? If you still think it’s worth it.”

Gwen doesn’t answer, just chews on her lip and stares at her hands, and Merlin wonders if he’s gone too far. He’s about to say, “Or not,” when she nods.

“Okay,” she says. “Can you pass me my phone?”

*

When Morgana and Lance join them in the hot tub, Merlin excuses himself and goes back up to his room. He hears voices coming from inside and his heart sinks at the thought of Mordred in the room, but when he opens the door he finds Gwaine and Percival there, sitting on his own bed while Arthur, apparently freshly showered, pulls on a shirt.

“Hi Merlin,” Gwaine says with an evil grin. “Where have you been?”

“I was at the place where we do things that are none of your business,” Merlin says caustically, which is a bit unfair, but Gwaine looks so mischievous that Merlin has to strengthen his own defenses for whatever the asshole trombonist is planning.

“He’s like this all the time,” Arthur says, but it doesn’t sound like a complaint, more like a fond insult. Merlin would glare at him but he’s afraid to look at him right now, which feels weird. Why would he be afraid? Maybe it’s because even without looking he can feel the dom energy radiating off him and Merlin needs to be angry at him right now, not turned on.

“Don’t I know it. So tell me,” Gwaine begins, as Merlin kneels by his suitcase to get out clothes, “will I be keeping my trombone?”

Merlin blinks at him, registers what he means, and glares, using the glare that he would have used on Arthur as well so it probably looks like a double glare if that’s even possible. “Shut up, Gwaine.”

Percival laughs, clearly in on the joke, and Arthur chuckles, which makes Merlin panic because maybe he’s in on it too and they’re all going to make fun of him all day.

“That’s such a shame. I thought you’d make a few New Year’s resolutions,” Gwaine continues, clearly planning something which will torment Merlin, so Merlin finds a shirt that he doesn’t really care about that he can use to suffocate Gwaine. “What sort of New Year's resolutions would those be, Percival?”

“I can’t imagine, do tell,” Percival says, somewhat salaciously, a word Merlin would never have associated with Percival before, the thought of which alarms him.

“Well,” says Gwaine, and Merlin stands up to strangle him with the shirt but Arthur grabs his arms and holds him back. “I was thinking something along the lines of, ‘shall end bratty behavior in return for good sex’ and—”

“Shut up,” snarls Merlin, struggling against Arthur’s grip and enjoying the way Arthur’s hands tighten on his arms.

“Calm down,” Arthur tells him. “He’s only taking the piss.”

“I’ll deal with you later,” Merlin tells him, aware that he is not in a position to deal with a man holding his arms in a delicious death grip.

Arthur laughs delightedly and says, “What are you going to do to me?” reminding Merlin of himself saying the exact same words the night before.

“Come on Merlin,” Gwaine says gleefully. “Don’t you want him to fuck you?”

“Are you still high?” Merlin demands, deflecting, but also forgetting to struggle because he does actually want Arthur to fuck him. Not that he wants Gwaine and Percival to be in the room when it happens. Where are they all going with this?

“We’re talking about you now, though,” Gwaine says, undeterred. “Don’t try to get out of this, it’s gone on long enough and we’ve all had to witness your outburst so clearly if anything is going to be resolved, we need to take matters into our own hands.”

“Before you spend the rest of the day ignoring Arthur and making it worse for yourself,” Percival adds. Merlin is still shocked by this unsubtle side of Percival and anyway he has to admit that they’re right and that was his plan, so he doesn’t come up with a response.

“This is an intervention,” says Gwaine dramatically. “Five minutes on the timer, Percival?” Percival holds up his phone, displaying a timer. “Good. Merlin, start listing your grievances.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Merlin says, knowing exactly what he’s talking about.

“Do you see what I have to deal with?” Arthur points out, letting go of Merlin’s wrists and wrapping his arms around him. Merlin’s body betrays him by leaning back into Arthur. Percival and Gwaine look very entertained.

“Grievances, Merlin,” Gwaine instructs.

Merlin can’t actually remember having any grievances, not when Arthur’s holding him like this and everything feels right. He knows that he wanted to talk to Arthur this morning about last night, but frankly last night was amazing except for Arthur refusing to fuck him and even that was hot because now Merlin is buzzing with anticipation for the time when Arthur will actually deem him worthy of a fuck. This doesn’t mean that Arthur’s not a wanker, which Merlin will tell him in no uncertain terms when Arthur lets him go, but he has a feeling that if he tells him now, Arthur will let go as retaliation, and that doesn’t bear thinking about.

“Arthur, you’re hypnotizing him,” laughs Percival.

Arthur kisses Merlin’s neck. “Don’t feel like talking now, do you?”

Merlin glares. “Wanker.” Arthur doesn’t let go of him, thank god.

“Brat,” he says, sounding amused.

“This is a really mature conversation,” Percival notes.

“Arthur knows what he did,” Merlin says passive-aggressively.

“That’s true, I do know,” Arthur says comfortably.

“Why do you keep doing that, then?” Merlin says, lumping all the “that”s that Arthur has done into one.

“Because you like it,” Arthur answers easily. Merlin opens his mouth to argue and Arthur adds, “Except for the ignoring, you don’t like that. But sometimes you’re impossible to deal with and I can’t reason with you, so what do you expect me to do? I’m human too, you know.”

“Really,” mutters Merlin. Arthur sighs and Merlin immediately feels contrite. “Okay,” he says before Arthur can tell him to stop behaving like a child or something, “you’re right, obviously I like it. I’m just confused because I can’t tell what you really want. It felt like you were making fun of me to begin with but now I don’t know what’s going on and …” He trails off, remembering that Percival and Gwaine are there.

Arthur seems to understand right away. “We’ll meet you in the lobby in twenty minutes,” he tells Gwaine and Percival. They nod and stand up.

“You two are perverts and voyeurs,” Merlin tells them. Percival finds this hilarious and Gwaine just shrugs.

“It worked though, didn’t it?”

Merlin glares after them as they head out the door.

Arthur sways him gently. “Want to sit down?”

“I want you to hold me,” Merlin says, covering Arthur’s hands with his and ducking his head, feeling vulnerable for saying it. “Please?”

“Of course,” Arthur answers, and then adds teasingly, “since you asked so nicely.” He maneuvers Merlin onto his bed and sits down next to him, gathering him in his arms again. “Okay, where were we?”

“Do you actually like me?” Merlin asks, his voice muffled in Arthur’s shoulder. “Or is this all just for fun or whatever. I just want to know so I can figure out where I stand.”

“Isn’t it obvious? Of course I like you.” Arthur runs his fingers through Merlin’s hair, making him tilt his head back. Merlin searches his face and doesn’t find any malice.

“Then why do you ignore me half the time?” he asks, his voice sounding small in his own ears. “I know I’m a brat but that’s partly to get your attention.”

Arthur smiles. “Well, you succeeded. Honestly though, sometimes you’re exhausting. You never stop fighting.”

“Then get better at making me stop,” Merlin says, looking directly into Arthur’s eyes.

“The ignoring works unbelievably well for that sometimes,” Arthur points out.

“But then we’re constantly at each other’s throats until one of us gives in and you won’t and I can’t stand that.” Merlin looks away, biting his lip. This conversation isn’t as difficult as he’d imagined it might be but he still feels vulnerable and he’s realizing as he thinks it all through that their entire dynamic is based on fighting and he loves it and doesn’t want to give it up, and he’s afraid that now he’ll seem immature for wanting this.

“When you fight with me,” Arthur says, breaking Merlin out of his train of thought, “what do you want me to do?”

“Make me submit,” Merlin answers immediately without thinking it through. Arthur smirks.

“You don’t like it when I refuse, or when I stop,” he agrees.

Merlin nods, and searches Arthur’s face again. “What about you? What do you want?”

“I want you to submit to me,” Arthur tells him, pinning him with his gaze. Merlin melts into the blue eyes, feeling like he’s drowning in them and not wanting to come up for air. “But I love the fight. I just want to make sure you’re being safe and that our intentions are in the same place.”

“Trust me, please,” Merlin says, stroking Arthur’s thigh, “I will use my safeword if anything goes too far. I’m not that fragile, you know.”

“Aren’t you?” Arthur’s lips quirk.

Merlin glares half-heartedly at him. Arthur laughs and pulls Merlin into his lap, running his hands up his back. The robe Merlin is wearing falls open and Arthur’s eyes widen.

“How have I never seen you in these before?” he asks, tugging at the waistband of Merlin’s swim shorts.

“Maybe I didn’t think you deserved it,” Merlin says before he can stop himself. Arthur raises his eyebrows. Merlin contemplates apologizing but instead goes with defiantly returning Arthur’s stare. Arthur, keeping their gazes locked, slips the robe off Merlin’s shoulders and traces a finger up Merlin’s spine.

Merlin leans forward to kiss him but Arthur puts a hand on his chest. “Not until later,” he says, and Merlin’s skin heats up.

“You’d better make it worth it later then,” he says, to cover up the fact that Arthur has clearly won this silent battle for dominance. Which is incredibly hot. Merlin wonders how many more fights he can pick later, and if he’ll win any of them or if Arthur will manage to totally subdue him.

“If you’re good,” Arthur tells him, pushing him gently but firmly off his lap. “Come on, get changed. Gwaine and Percival are waiting.”

*

Merlin spends the whole afternoon with Arthur, Gwaine, and Percival, wandering around town near their hotel and ducking into various restaurants before they pick one to eat at, based solely on the fact that it has live fish in tanks in the window, which Gwaine thinks is really cool. Then they go to the Old Town and wander down the street, going into various stores where Percival buys a collection of shell spoons and Gwaine buys an atrociously touristy hat. Arthur buys Merlin bubble tea and makes him choke on it when he casually whispers in his ear that it looks like he’s drinking come. They run into Gwen, Morgana, and Lancelot staggering out of a massage parlor, and Gwen seems blissfully happy while Morgana gripes that she couldn’t believe how painful the massage was. Lancelot just seems mostly cool with it, although he’s limping slightly. They go hard on the backs of the knees, he explains to Merlin. Merlin resists the urge to make an innuendo out of that, which is probably for the best because honestly it would most likely be a stupid one.

It’s the best afternoon Merlin has had on the tour so far, and it’s over too quickly. They make their way back to the hotel to get ready for the concert, and Merlin tries to get Arthur to shower with him but Arthur just smacks his ass and tells him to hurry up or they’ll be late. Merlin throws his shirt at him and runs into the bathroom before Arthur can retaliate.

They have to take separate buses over, at which point Gwaine commandeers Merlin and crows, “I was right, I was right,” pumping his fist in the air and telling everyone that Merlin is getting laid, while Merlin cowers in his seat on the bus and tries to hide from everyone. Morgana thinks it’s hilarious, and Lancelot tries for a little while to support Merlin but can’t help laughing. Gwen doesn’t even give Merlin any backup, other than to grin widely at him and say how happy she is for him. Despite this general lack of support, Merlin is glad to see that Gwen and Morgana and Lancelot are back into their relationship. They all look so much happier, especially Morgana, Merlin notes.

Backstage at the concert hall, Merlin warms up and then heads backstage. They’ve just opened the hall to the audience and people are trickling into the audience. No one is onstage yet and Merlin doesn’t want to be the first one, so he waits in the wings, in near complete darkness except for the streaks of light peeking through the stage curtains.

He turns away from the stage, putting his reed in his mouth, and sees Arthur standing a few feet away by himself. The faint light coming through the curtains catches on Arthur’s hair, and Merlin can make out his bent head, closed eyes, and his crossed arms, two mallets in each hand. He looks perfect, a combination of hard muscle and the softness of his hair and his eyelashes, which Merlin hadn’t noticed before but which are now catching the light in a way that makes Merlin think he knows what the meaning of Art is. His expression is serene as he obviously gets himself into the right headspace for performance. The whole image tugs gently at Merlin's heart.

He doesn’t realize he’s been staring until Arthur glances over at him. “Hi Merlin,” he says in a low voice.

“Hi,” Merlin says back, taking his reed out of his mouth and putting it in his water cup. He tries to think of something else to say and can only come up with, “Excited for tonight?”

“Apparently the audience is fuller tonight,” Arthur says, uncrossing his arms and shaking them out.

“That’s impressive. It was already so big.”

“Biggest I’ve seen.” Arthur absently plays his mallets over the air in front of him.

Merlin grins. “That’s what she said.”

Arthur chuckles. “Thanks for killing the mood.”

Merlin bites his lip to keep his smile from widening and watches Arthur. “Do you really do a massage thing with those?” he asks after a minute.

Arthur nods. “Turn around.”

Merlin obeys. Arthur steps up behind him, making his breath hitch slightly, and begins tapping his mallets over his back in a rippling effect. Merlin closes his eyes and tilts his head back, savoring the feeling, which he’s pretty sure is made doubly good by the fact that Arthur is standing right behind him. He can feel Arthur’s body heat radiating off him, and he can smell his cologne.

“Good?” murmurs Arthur.

“Yeah,” Merlin answers, his voice coming out breathier than he’d expected.

“See how nice it is when you just let me take care of you?” The mallets stop and Arthur steps closer, squeezing one of Merlin’s shoulders and resting his chin on the other. “I could make you feel good all the time.”

Merlin leans back into his touch, tilting his head when Arthur brushes his lips up his neck to give him better access. “You do,” he admits.

“Hmm?” Arthur kisses his neck, against Merlin’s pulse. Merlin gasps, thankfully barely audible. Arthur wraps his arms around him, careful of his oboe, and says, “Do what?”

“You do make me feel good,” Merlin elaborates, thinking about the times Arthur’s left him without letting him come and after making him come too much and how angry he was but how amazing it honestly was because it kept the end point far away, almost inaccessible, and Merlin knows deep down that it was perfect and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I know. That’s the only reason I do all of that,” Arthur reminds him, as if he can hear his thoughts. “I hope you know. I can read you far too easily, Merlin.”

“Really?” Merlin twists to look over his shoulder at Arthur.

“You’ve wanted me to fuck you since we first met,” Arthur says with a smirk.

“Shut up.” Merlin swats him.

“I would have, too.” Arthur transfers all the mallets to one hand and sneaks the other down Merlin’s front, brushing his thumb over Merlin’s stomach. “If we weren’t interrupted.”

“On the piano?” Merlin suggests, his breath hitching as Arthur slides his hand back up to Merlin’s ribs.

“Kinky,” Arthur teases.

“We might have broken it though,” Merlin says, vaguely trying to keep his wits about him.

“Hey, Arthur?”

Merlin nearly jumps out of his skin. Arthur raises his head, and Merlin turns with him and sees Mordred approaching them.

“What is it?” Arthur asks, and Merlin feels positive that Arthur is about to let go of him and go off and do percussion stuff or maybe do Mordred and he panics and then resigns himself to it. They didn’t even talk about Mordred, but the last thing Merlin wants is for Arthur to think he’s an insanely toxic jealous person. If Arthur wants to fuck Mordred too, Merlin can’t get in his way, even if it makes him unhappy. Except it would really make him unhappy. Maybe they should talk about it?

Arthur doesn’t let go. Merlin exhales, relieved.

“Can we get a photo?” Mordred asks, looking at Merlin warily.

“After the concert,” Arthur says. “On stage.”

“I meant just the two of us,” Mordred says.

“Sure, after the concert,” Arthur repeats.

“And can we talk then, later?” Mordred continues.

“If you want.” Arthur brushes his thumb over the bottom of Merlin’s ribcage and Merlin inhales, realizing that he hadn’t been breathing. “I need to focus on the concert now, I’ll talk to you later,” he dismisses Mordred, and Mordred hesitates and then goes back toward the dressing rooms.

Merlin breathes out through his nose and puts his reed back in his mouth.

“Are you okay?” Arthur murmurs into his neck. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing going on between me and Mordred. We had a thing for a week and he still wishes we did, but it’s over. It was never even serious. Okay?”

“Am I that obvious?” Merlin asks around his reed. He takes it out of his mouth and puts it in his oboe..

“Yes.” Arthur nibbles his neck. “Very obvious. Subtlety is not your strong point.”

“Oh I’m sorry, did you say I should work on being less subtle? Maybe I should tell you unsubtly that you’re a complete wanker,” Merlin retorts. Arthur laughs.

“I’d love to bite you right now for that, but it would be unprofessional to leave any marks, so stop tempting me and go warm up or go onstage or something.”

Merlin grins and turns around in Arthur’s arms to kiss him. “Good luck,” he says, breaking away and heading for the stage.

“You too,” Arthur calls after him.

*

After the concert, and even more curtain calls than the previous night, their conductor tells them all that the second reception is cancelled so that they can “let loose on the town and enjoy their young person life” or something like that, Merlin doesn’t see the text that he apparently sends them all in the WeChat group so he only hears Gwaine’s translation of it. Gwaine’s interpretation of this is clubbing, at different places from last night, and drinking, an unexpected relapse that Gwaine clearly thinks is going to make Percival hate him but that Percival clearly couldn’t give two shits about. Gwaine asks Percival to marry him in front of one of the clubs and then throws up, and Percival fondly calls a cab and takes him back to the hotel.

“They’re perfect for each other,” Arthur comments to Merlin. They’d supported Gwaine out of the club and now they’re enjoying the quiet, while Lancelot, Gwen, and Morgana continue dancing inside. Arthur’s rolling a spliff expertly and Merlin watches him, unable to tear his eyes away from Arthur’s hands.

“They’re the most perfect couple I’ve ever seen,” Merlin answers.

“Do you think they’ll get married, then?” Arthur asks, lighting the spliff and taking a drag.

“Absolutely. Gwaine’s wanted this since forever and Percival doesn’t seem to be going away anytime soon.”

Arthur holds out the spliff to him and Merlin shakes his head.

“I don’t smoke.”

“What are you talking about? That’s total bullshit,” Arthur reprimands him.

“I mean I don’t inhale,” Merlin clarifies. “I just smoke cigarettes for the taste and then one time I ate an edible.”

“Fair enough,” Arthur says, taking another puff. “So. What do you want to do now?”

“I don’t really feel like dancing,” Merlin says, thinking. “It’s nice outside tonight.”

“We could walk back, if you like,” Arthur suggests.

Merlin nods. “Should we go back in and tell them?”

“Text them, it’ll take too long to find them and they’ve probably already vanished into a bathroom stall,” Arthur says. Merlin laughs and sends the three of them a quick text saying he and Arthur are walking back and they should be careful and use protection and things like that. Arthur reads the message over his shoulder and chuckles, his breath warm in Merlin’s ear.

“Stop spying,” Merlin tells him. Arthur bites his neck and Merlin goes deliciously weak.

“On second thoughts,” Arthur comments into Merlin’s neck, “don’t you think walking back will take too long?” Merlin’s head spins at the implications and he can’t even come up with a response. Arthur straightens, leaving Merlin without a support, and Merlin almost falls. Arthur catches him. “Let’s take a cab,” he says.

*

Merlin, when asked later by Gwaine to describe the night in full, would say that during the taxi ride Arthur decimated his planned defiance with a thorough makeout session that left Merlin’s brain reeling and his nerve endings on fire, and Arthur would mutter that it clearly didn’t decimate Merlin enough, because when they get out of the taxi back at the hotel Merlin grabs the lapels of Arthur’s jacket, kisses him ferociously, and whispers in his ear, “Bet you can’t shut me up tonight,” and then runs into the lobby before Arthur can catch him. Of course, Arthur does catch him at the elevator, and shoves him up against a wall while they wait, biting his neck harshly and pressing his thigh between Merlin’s legs, eliciting a moan that Merlin would usually be embarrassed to make in public. When the elevator comes, Arthur throws Merlin into it, and Merlin catches himself on the hand railing around the edges but doesn’t have enough time to turn before Arthur is up against him again.

“We’ll see about that,” he growls into Merlin’s ear, already unbuttoning Merlin’s shirt, and there is zero percent of Merlin that wants to stop him.

The elevator arrives at their floor and Arthur steps back from Merlin and picks him up. “Hey,” Merlin protests, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck automatically to keep himself from falling. “I can walk, you know.”

“Shut up,” Arthur says, carrying him down the corridor, “and get your key out.”

“No,” Merlin replies conversationally.

“Not the right answer,” Arthur deposites him outside their room and gets his own key out of his pocket. He opens the door and shoves Merlin in. “Suit, off. Now.”

“That was not a full sentence,” Merlin says, leaning against the wall and grinning. Arthur grabs him and throws him on his bed, and crawls up over him, pinning him down.

“Do you want to come or not?” he growls. Merlin closes his eyes and whimpers. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” Merlin says, and it comes out embarrassingly like a whine.

“Then get all of this off,” Arthur orders. “And fold it, or I’ll make you come for every single piece of clothing you’re wearing. Which,” he purrs, kissing Merlin’s neck and unfairly incapacitating him, “includes both shoes and socks, so that’ll be eight times. I don’t think you can survive eight times, do you?”

“No,” Merlin gasps. “I’ll fold everything.”

“Good.” Arthur releases his wrists and gets up, taking off his jacket. Merlin hurries to do the same, his back to Arthur as he lays out his jacket and folds his trousers on his own bed. The shirt he discards by his suitcase because he knows he’ll need to wash it.

When he’s fully naked, he starts to turn around, but instantly Arthur presses up against him and bites his neck. “Close your eyes,” he instructs. “If you open them before I tell you you can, I’ll blindfold you and I won’t let you look at me at all tonight.”

Merlin tenses deliciously and nods, closing his eyes. He would fight this but he knows Arthur is serious and he can’t bear the thought of not being able to watch him. He feels Arthur turn him around, hum his approval, and guide him toward Arthur’s bed. When Arthur turns him again and pushes him, he panics at the sensation of falling until his back hits the bed. He automatically scoots away from the edge and feels the bed dip as Arthur follows him, crawling over him again, but not touching him yet.

“You’re being surprisingly good,” Arthur comments, and Merlin hears a snap, which he decides must be the bottle of lube. He knows he’s correct when Arthur’s finger, slick and cool, slides between his asscheeks and inside him, slowly working him open. Merlin’s breath hitches and he tries to keep himself still, only jerking a little bit when Arthur slides his finger deeper. “You’ve never been this good before. You must be desperate.”

“Is it so surprising that I can be good?” Merlin retorts, the words coming out staggered.

“Not really, you’re very easily manipulated,” Arthur taunts him.

“I’ll manipulate you in a minute,” Merlin says venomously, and bites back a breathy shriek when Arthur adds a second finger and plunges both deeper, pressing them against the perfect spot.

“You don’t look like you’d be in a position to do that,” Arthur says. Merlin hears the smirk in his voice and raises his hand in the direction of Arthur’s voice, planning to smack the smirk clear off Arthur’s face. He misses and Arthur’s fingers pause.

“Hands above your head.”

Merlin hesitates.

“Merlin.” Arthur’s tone is warning.

“Make me,” Merlin says, knowing this is a very bad idea but doing it anyway.

Arthur withdraws his fingers and, gripping Merlin’s wrists, presses them above his head and holds them there together with one hand. “Open your eyes.”

Merlin does, cautiously, and Arthur slaps him. Merlin cries out, his head snapping to the side, the sting of the slap burning his cheek. Arthur grips his chin and yanks his head back.

"You complete asshole," Merlin gasps.

"Say that again," Arthur hisses, hooking Merlin's leg over his shoulder. Merlin inhales sharply at the stretch as Arthur presses forward and sinks into him, at a measured pace but without much caution. When he's fully inside him, Arthur leans over him, deepening the stretch in Merlin's thigh. "Go on. Say it again."

"Wanker," Merlin says instead, throwing his head back and clenching his teeth. Arthur grabs his hair and yanks his head forward, and Merlin lets out a startled cry.

"Look at me," Arthur commands in a low, dangerous voice. Merlin twists his face away, fighting Arthur's grip on the side of his head, but Arthur forces Merlin to face him. "Say that, again, to my face.”

“Why, are you deaf?” Merlin demands, fighting his hand on his wrists. Arthur presses Merlin’s wrists more firmly into the mattress and begins to move, and it’s very slow but very deep and Arthur didn’t even give Merlin time to get used to his size, the total wanker, and he knows it’s Merlin’s first time. But it feels insanely good and Merlin doesn’t want him to stop, and even though Arthur’s clearly expressing his anger, Merlin can tell he’s also being careful.

"Should I gag you?" Arthur asks against Merlin’s mouth.

Merlin gasps, wishing he’d just kiss him and not tease. "I don't know, should you?"

“You're seriously making me consider it.”

“Ooh, serious consideration, must be exhausting for you.”

Arthur slaps Merlin's thigh, hard. "Shut up," he growls, pounding into Merlin harder.

"Make me," Merlin gasps out defiantly. Arthur wraps his hand around his neck, pressing his thumb against Merlin's throat. Merlin chokes and Arthur lessens the pressure.

“No more talking,” he says, beginning to speed up, and Merlin can do nothing except revel in the mixed pain and pleasure that’s threatening to overwhelm him. His orgasm is building on him, too insanely much, and he tries to fight it back because it feels uncomfortable, like he’s going to lose control of himself and be wrenched out of his body, but he can’t stop it and it sparks down his spine and comes, untouched, just as Arthur’s rhythm falters and he comes inside him.

Merlin is dimly aware of Arthur releasing his wrists and starting to slide out of him, and he wraps his free leg around him firmly and hisses, "Don’t you dare."

Arthur breathes out a laugh, collapsing over Merlin and mouthing at his shoulder. "You're insatiable. Got you to shut up though, didn’t I?”

"Only barely," Merlin says confidently. Arthur bites his shoulder and Merlin gasps, arching toward the sensation.

"Sure," Arthur says, biting down again. "I love it when you think you’re convincing."

Merlin throws his head back. "You love me," he translates, trying to be cheeky and sounding wrecked instead.

"Love it... you idiot," Arthur growls when Merlin starts laughing helplessly. Arthur raises his head to glare at Merlin and grinds his hips down. Merlin chokes on his laugh.

"Oh god," he whispers as he feels Arthur begin to harden inside him again.

"That's right," Arthur says with a smirk. "That's what I thought."

Merlin's head spins as he imagines Arthur fucking him again, pounding him into the mattress, almost certainly making sure that Merlin won't be able to walk the next day. He wants it desperately and he's about to open his mouth and say something snarky to accelerate the process but he immediately thinks of the times Arthur's decided he's being too much of a brat and has left him, shaking without any hope of proper release. He bites his lip, hesitating.

"What is it?" Arthur asks, sounding concerned. He threads his fingers through Merlin's hair and strokes his thumb over his cheek. Merlin makes a small noise and leans into the touch.

"Please don't leave me again," he says, aware that it sounds pathetic, but he really doesn’t think he could handle that again.

"Fuck," Arthur whispers. He does pull out now, and rolls them over to wrap his arms around Merlin. "I'm so sorry Merlin. I'm sorry I did that to you. I didn’t realize how far I was going.”

Merlin's eyes sting and he feels the tears sliding down his cheeks. He buries his face in Arthur's neck and lets himself cry, his body convulsing. Arthur holds him tightly, running his fingers up and down his spine and murmuring apologies.

Eventually Merlin cries himself out and settles into the calm warmth of Arthur’s hands and body and voice. Arthur is saying something about how he won’t do it again, and Merlin raises himself up on his elbows. Arthur looks up at him and smiles, looking concerned but also relieved.

“It was good,” Merlin admits. “In retrospect. Now that this has happened. Even the ignoring was pretty good.”

Arthur contemplates him. Then, suddenly, he grabs Merlin's wrists and rolls them over in one smooth movement, pinning Merlin's hands above his head. A shriek of surprise escapes Merlin's lips before he even realizes it's happening, and he stares up at Arthur, dazed. Arthur grins maliciously and whispers against his mouth, "You love it. Admit it. You love being ignored, not knowing whether I'll ever touch you again."

"I hate it," responds Merlin breathlessly, very well aware that he’s contradicting himself, and wishing desperately that Arthur would close the gap between their mouths because he’s not going to do it, that would be giving in.

"Prove it," Arthur says, sounding bored. Merlin wraps his legs involuntarily around Arthur's waist and Arthur responds by rocking into him a little and then sliding back out, slowly, tauntingly. Merlin tries to move up to meet him but Arthur quickly lets go of one wrist and shoves Merlin's hips down into the bed. "Keep your hands above your head," he commands, releasing the other wrist and slipping his other hand around the back of Merlin's neck, tilting Merlin's head back and pressing his thumb lightly against his throat.

"Wait, yellow, wait," Merlin gasps, and Arthur pulls his hand away quickly. "No," Merlin interrupts, when Arthur opens his mouth. "I love that. So much. I just. I'm about to disobey you and I need to know that you'll fuck me, not leave. Just, you’re right, I love it, but this time I need you to follow through. Promise?"

Arthur kisses Merlin, hard. "I promise," he whispers, and then wraps his hand around Merlin’s throat again, rocking into him deeper and starting to move at a slow, consistent pace.

Merlin wraps his arms around Arthur, and Arthur sucks in a breath. Merlin grins cockily up at him. "What are you going to do about it?" he taunts, although it sounds breathless and he's fairly sure he's totally unconvincing. "Bet you can't make me regret this."

"Hm. Try again," Arthur says, pressing his thumb against Merlin’s windpipe again. Merlin chokes and gasps in a ragged breath. The pressure vanishes and Arthur whispers in his ear, "Pick a number between ten and twenty."

Merlin lets the idea flail through his brain for a second. That could mean the number of strikes, if Arthur is going to hit him, not that they've talked about it and Merlin thinks they probably should before it happens because he only likes certain tools; but in that case he should pick a low number. Or it could mean the number of orgasms or the number of times Arthur will edge him, in which case Merlin would say more is preferable. Or it could be something Merlin hasn't even thought of before, and he can’t wrap his mind around what sort of number to choose for that.

"I'm waiting," growls Arthur.

"Twenty," Merlin says before he can think it through. Arthur's eyes widen and he looks impressed.

“Are you sure?”

Merlin wonders if he should be scared. “What, are you worried you can’t do it?” he says instead, projecting.

Arthur sets his jaw. “Take this seriously.”

“I am.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow.

“I am,” Merlin protests.

Arthur ponders him for a few seconds, then slides out. Merlin whimpers in protest but Arthur shushes him gently, kissing his neck where he’d pressed his thumb against it. Merlin hooks his ankle over Arthur’s leg to tell him not to move off him, and Arthur murmurs, “I’m not going anywhere.”

When Merlin finally relaxes, Arthur takes his wrists gently and places them above his head. “Here’s how this is going to go,” he says, his voice still soothing, and Merlin melts into his touch. “If you can survive twenty minutes of me edging you, without talking back to me twenty times, I’ll let you come. If not, I’ll make you wait all night and then let you come in the morning.”

Merlin’s breath catches. Twenty minutes doesn’t sound too bad, he thinks, but then again, he’s never gone in Arthur’s presence more than a minute without talking back or doing something to frustrate him. But he really doesn’t want to wait all night to come. It’ll be uncomfortable and he’s already spent too many nights on this tour like that. Arthur’s looking at him, waiting for confirmation, and Merlin nods. Maybe it won’t be so hard.

But then Arthur smirks wickedly and says, “If it’s so easy for you, why don’t you just behave all the time?” and Merlin can’t stop himself in time.

“Because you’re a wanker,” he says, and then bites his lip. Arthur looks far too pleased with this. He reaches down and starts slowly stroking Merlin’s cock, and Merlin gasps.

“You really don’t want me to be edging you all night,” he says conversationally.

“I suppose you know exactly what I want,” retorts Merlin, and then curses himself inwardly. Arthur strokes him faster.

“That’s two,” he warns. “You might want to be careful now.”

“Oh might I?” Shit. Shit fucking shit how does Arthur know exactly what to say to provoke him?

Arthur chuckles and twists his wrist. Merlin lets out a high-pitched moan and bucks into Arthur’s hand.

“Tell me,” Arthur says, over his mouth, and fucking hell, why doesn’t he just kiss Merlin already? Merlin doesn’t even hear what Arthur says next because he’s so worked up and frustrated and he needs more pressure from Arthur’s hand but Arthur’s not giving it to him.

“You fucking tease,” Merlin gasps. Arthur’s hand slows and Merlin whimpers pathetically.

“Not the answer to the question I asked. Or were you not listening?” Arthur asks perceptively.

Merlin starts to say something and then bites his lip.

“Interesting.” Arthur continues stroking him at the tortuously slow pace. “I asked why you’re always so intent on ruining things for yourself.”

“I’m not the one who ruins them,” Merlin snaps breathlessly, moving his hips upward and trying to get Arthur to go faster. Arthur just takes his hand off and Merlin nearly screams in frustration but he swallows the sound when he sees the look on Arthur’s face.

“Really.” Arthur’s eyes are hard. “Well then, let me ruin something for you right now.” He starts stroking Merlin’s cock again, this time hard and fast, and Merlin immediately knows what he’s going to do.

“No, please,” he cries out, but Arthur ignores him and pumps him faster, and then just as he feels his orgasm approaching, Arthur takes his hand away and Merlin actually screams in frustration as the orgasm recedes. “Fuck you,” he bites out through the tears that are suddenly streaming down his cheeks.

Arthur smooths his hand over Merlin’s hip, a comforting pressure, but Merlin is still angry with him so he refuses to acknowledge to himself how comforting it is. “I warned you,” he tells him. Merlin glares at him.

“Wanker.”

Arthur laughs. “You never stop, do you?”

Merlin intensifies his glare. Arthur just smiles and sits up, reaching for the bottle of lube. He uncaps it and pours some out on his fingers, and then tosses the bottle aside and leans over Merlin again. Merlin realizes he wasn’t breathing and sucks in a breath.

“It’s been less than five minutes,” Arthur tells him, “and you’re at seven.”

Merlin clenches his jaw.

“Very good.” Arthur slides a finger inside him, just up to the first knuckle. Merlin is still sore there and he winces, and Arthur pauses to let him get used to the feeling. “No need to look at me like that, it’s not my fault you can’t shut up most of the time.”

“It’s absolutely your fault,” Merlin tells him. Arthur purses his lips.

“Is it? How? Tell me.”

Merlin mistakes the sarcasm in Arthur’s voice for arrogant disbelief and says, “It’s pretty obvious. You’re a massive prick.”

“Nine.”

Merlin hisses as Arthur adds a second finger. “Wow, you’re so good at math or whatever.”

“It’s not math, Merlin, it’s just counting.”

“You’re right,” Merlin agrees, “only counting, not too difficult. That’s the only thing percussionists ever have to do anyway. It’d be pathetic if you couldn’t—fuck!”

“Want to finish that sentence?” Arthur asks, twisting his fingers again. Merlin can’t think straight. His orgasm is approaching again and maybe if he doesn’t say anything, Arthur won’t notice and he’ll come before Arthur removes his fingers.

He doesn’t have any such luck. Arthur twists once more and then pulls his fingers out, and Merlin’s orgasm backs off again, leaving him shaking and breathing erratically, hands fisted in the sheets above his head.

“I hate you,” he whispers.

“Twelve,” is the calm response. And then, “Fourteen minutes to go.”

Merlin bites his lip. This is getting dangerous now. He hasn’t been able to stop himself so far from speaking and he can’t imagine another fourteen minutes of being edged like this. He’s regretting not choosing ten, but then if he’d said ten he’d have lost by now and that would possibly kill him.

Arthur kisses his neck and strokes his thigh. Merlin whimpers, melting into his touch. “It’s all right,” Arthur whispers, “you can do this. Just relax.”

Merlin bites his bottom lip and makes a small noise. Arthur raises his head to look at him and Merlin pouts.

“You’re such a brat,” Arthur says, laughing, and kisses him, taking Merlin’s lower lip between his teeth and tugging.

“At least I’m not a total ass,” Merlin retorts into Arthur’s mouth. Arthur pulls back.

“What was that?”

“I said you have a nice ass.”

“You did not say that,” Arthur says, the hint of a smile curling up the corner of his mouth.

“How do you know? You didn’t hear, did you?” Merlin points out.

“I heard you,” Arthur says, slipping two fingers back inside Merlin and making him start. “I just wanted to see if you were brave enough to say it again.”

“I don’t think you heard,” remarks Merlin. “Percussionists are deaf from all the gong and cymbal crashes.”

“Tell me more about percussionists,” Arthur dares him, adding a third finger. Merlin writhes underneath him.

“Now you want me to talk?” Merlin asks, unable to stop himself, because Arthur’s finger-fucking him expertly so it feels good and frustrating at the same time, and he’s taunting him, and Merlin now knows he doesn’t stand a chance because Arthur knows exactly what buttons to push, so all Merlin can do to try and win this is provoke Arthur.

“You seem to want to. Who am I to stop you?” Arthur bends his head and bites Merlin’s neck, crooking his fingers. Merlin makes a strangled noise. “Well go on then. Talk. If you can.”

“Of course I can,” Merlin snaps.

“Sixteen,” Arthur breathes triumphantly against Merlin’s neck.

“Shut up,” Merlin gasps.

“Seventeen.”

Merlin thinks quickly, which is almost impossible, given that Arthur is crooking his fingers with every thrust and Merlin can feel his orgasm building up again, and fuck, why did he agree to twenty minutes of this torture and why is it so good? But if he can keep his mind on the issue at hand, which is properly provoking Arthur, he only has three chances left.

“If you win this,” he hisses, pressing down on Arthur’s hand in an effort to get his fingers a little deeper, “it’ll just prove that you can’t shut me up.”

“Eighteen.” Arthur pulls his fingers out and Merlin goes limp as his orgasm recedes for a third time. “You’re not even trying.”

“You’re not making it easy,” Merlin bites out.

“I never said I would make it easy,” Arthur says innocently.

“Fuck off.”

“Really, Merlin, you don’t want to do this to yourself. Trust me.” Arthur takes his cock in his hand again and strokes him slowly. Merlin’s orgasm hasn’t fully gone and now it rears up again, but Arthur’s giving him nowhere near enough pressure and Merlin can’t handle it.

“Please,” he whimpers, thrusting upward. Arthur slows down and twists his wrist and Merlin cries out, “You fucking bastard—”

Arthur lets go and slides off Merlin. Merlin doesn’t register what’s happening for a second and then opens his mouth to protest, but Arthur cuts him off.

“I gave you every chance to do what I asked.” He rolls Merlin onto his side and pulls him close, with Merlin’s back against his chest.

“You can’t be serious,” Merlin begs.

"Mmm," Arthur murmurs noncommittally, brushing his fingers in a light circle over Merlin's stomach.

"Fuck," Merlin gasps, writhing. "How are you not desperate?"

Arthur just chuckles into his neck and dips his hand lower, making Merlin throw his head back against Arthur's shoulder.

"I bet you are though," he says tightly, trying desperately to keep himself under control. "You want to fuck me until I can’t think, until I can't talk."

"Do I?" Shit, Arthur sounds so calm, even though his cock is pressing between Merlin's asscheeks like an iron rod. Merlin reaches back and grabs Arthur's hip, and slides his hand up to Arthur's cock, stroking slowly and trying to tease him. Arthur sucks in a breath and Merlin grins victoriously, until Arthur rolls Merlin onto his stomach and slides straight in without preparation.

"Fuck," Merlin cries out. It's not as if much time has passed since Arthur was last inside him, and he's not totally dry, but the sensation is a shock and the burn is a definite mix of pain and pleasure. Arthur doesn’t even bother to start slow, either--he's already fucking Merlin hard and fast and Merlin feels his anger in every thrust. He shifts upward, trying to create a better angle for Arthur, but Arthur slaps his thigh hard and forces him back down and Merlin realizes what's going to happen, Arthur is going to come without letting him come and he's so infuriated and turned on by this idea that he can't think straight. Or gay, which is not even a funny joke right now. This is edging gone extreme and Merlin can’t believe how much he's into it.

When Arthur comes, burying himself in Merlin and pressing his forehead to Merlin's shoulder, Merlin thinks he honestly might come just from the idea of the whole thing. He's so hard he's dizzy, and he feels like he's floating somewhere that's not in this room. He can feel the pressure of Arthur on him vanish, and then Arthur slides out of him and collapses on the bed next to him, breathing hard. Merlin listens to each inhale and exhale euphorically, drifting in and out of full awareness, until he feels Arthur's hand on his hip, rolling him over onto his back, and then moving to his cock, stroking slowly, unfairly slowly, but he has no energy left so all he can do is whimper in protest.

Arthur doesn’t stop, and Merlin imagines for a moment that maybe Arthur's going to let him come now. But he doesn’t, just brings him to the brink and then takes his hand away and slides his arm over his chest, snuggling against him. Merlin jerks, any touch anywhere on him now verging on a threat of orgasm but also not enough. Arthur exhales into his ear and slips one leg between Merlin's, and Merlin quivers, stuck in the agonizing state right before the orgasm with no recourse and no immediate hope of this feeling subsiding.

Five minutes later Arthur whispers, "Sleep well." Merlin whimpers, tingling all over at the sensation of Arthur's warm breath in his ear. "What's the matter?" Arthur murmurs.

"You know what the matter is," fumes Merlin shakily.

"Oh no, I don't, tell me." Arthur doesn't even sound worried.

"I'm going to kill you," Merlin threatens, his voice hitching, "murder you in your sleep."

"But then you won't have me to finish you off in the morning," counters Arthur.

"I don't need you," scoffs Merlin.

"Finish yourself off then," Arthur says comfortably.

Merlin shuts up. Arthur laughs and kisses his neck.

*

Merlin doesn’t sleep for ages, not even after he hears Arthur’s breathing even out. He’s frustrated and angry, but that’s barely anything compared to his anticipation of the morning. He doesn’t know what Arthur will do but he knows that Arthur’s going to let him come, and that’s all that matters.

When he finally sleeps, it’s barely proper sleep, just drifting in and out of consciousness. He wakes up to Arthur stroking his stomach and kissing his neck over the various bite marks of the night before and the previous nights. Faint light is streaming through the curtains on their window, so it must be morning, and Merlin feels hazy and insanely turned on.

“Good morning,” Arthur murmurs. “Sleep well?”

“Oh yeah, fantastically,” Merlin answers sarcastically.

“Glad to hear it,” Arthur says, as if Merlin actually meant it. Merlin is about to say something cutting, but Arthur slides on top of him and kisses him properly, licking into his mouth and sucking out any insults Merlin might have been preparing to say. “What do you need?” he asks, pulling back and pinning Merlin with his eyes. They’re beautifully blue this morning and Merlin gets lost in them instantly. Arthur has to tug his hair to get his attention back to the question.

“Fuck me until I can’t walk,” Merlin says, not needing to think it through.

“But you’ll need to walk today,” Arthur says, tilting his head. “It’s our day off and Gwaine and Percival will want to do some sightseeing. You don’t want to miss out on that, do you?”

“I guess you won’t give me what I need then,” Merlin says plaintively. Arthur rises to the bait immediately and bites his neck, hard, before reaching for the lube.

“I’m not carrying you,” he says, pouring some onto his fingers again and forcing Merlin’s legs apart. “You’ll have to limp around all day.”

“I bet you can’t actually fuck me until I can’t walk,” suggests Merlin. “You’re not capable of it, and you’re trying to convince me to ask for something else that’s easier.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me.”

“You little shit,” growls Arthur, shoving two fingers straight in. Merlin gasps and tries to move away, but Arthur holds his hip down. “You’ll regret this.”

“Will I?” Merlin gasps out, shifting, ostensibly to see if he can make the angle Arthur’s driving at less searing, but really to see what Arthur will do about it. Arthur crooks his fingers and pulls out slowly, leaving Merlin panting.

“Hands above your head,” he orders. Merlin flinches at his tone and obeys.

Arthur doesn’t waste any time after that. He forces one of Merlin’s legs over his shoulder and slides into him, setting a punishing pace immediately. Merlin is still really sore and he has to grit his teeth and clench his fists in his pillow to offset the pain, but it’s good pain and it’s quickly becoming insane pleasure, all of the teasing from last night catching up with him. Arthur’s teeth are in his shoulder and he has one hand in Merlin’s hair, pulling viciously, and the other hand wrapped around Merlin’s thigh trapped underneath his chest, his nails digging into the softest parts. Merlin wraps his other leg around Arthur’s waist and clings on tightly, because he’s not allowed to put his arms around him, but he wants him to know how Merlin feels and how much Merlin wants and needs him. Arthur raises his head and kisses Merlin on the mouth, thrusting deeper, and Merlin comes, transcending his body in a way that he’d never imagined possible, dimly aware of Arthur coming inside him and collapsing over him.

When Merlin comes back to himself, Arthur is still inside him, his face buried in his neck. Merlin wraps his arms around him and sighs contentedly.

“Was that worth it?” Arthur asks him, raising himself up on his elbows and smiling smugly.

“Yes,” Merlin says honestly, “but you’re still a wanker.”

Arthur snorts. “Do you ever stop?”

“Maybe.” Merlin grins impishly. “You just haven’t figured out how yet.”

Arthur traces Merlin’s jaw with his finger. “I guess I’ll have to invest a bit more time getting to the bottom of that.” Then he rolls off Merlin and sits up, and reaches for his phone.

Merlin whimpers at the loss and tugs at his arm. “Come back,” he begs. Arthur links their fingers and scrolls through something on his phone, then stands up and gives Merlin’s hand a gentle pull before letting go.

“Get up,” he says, “Percival just texted and said they want to go out in thirty minutes. We need to shower.”

“I can’t move,” Merlin informs him.

“You asked for that,” Arthur points out. “Come on, how hard can it be? All you need to do is stand up.”

“My legs aren’t working.”

“Do I recall you saying something about how I couldn’t make that happen?” Arthur muses. Merlin glares at him. Arthur laughs and goes into the bathroom. “Come on then,” he calls over his shoulder.

Merlin flips him off behind his back. Then he struggles off the bed, wincing, and limps after him.

*

They spend the whole day with Percival and Gwaine, taking a train to the beach and then buying four bottles of baijiu and drinking all of them, and they end the evening in the hot tub with the rest of Gwaine’s edibles. Percival has one for the first time and Gwaine is so entertained that he actually swallows water from laughing, and then they end up getting touchy and Arthur drags Merlin back up to their room, not before warning Gwaine and Percival to be careful and not incur any additional charges from fucking in a hot tub that would make the hotel sue the orchestra or something.

Arthur keeps Merlin up all night the final night of the tour, edging him until Merlin begs for mercy, and then Arthur fucks him hard into the mattress and then again against the headboard. On the plane the next day Merlin is sitting next to Gwen and they laugh at the realization that neither of them can sit comfortably. When they finally land at midnight, after an entire day of travel, they limp through customs together, supporting each other, and when they get to the baggage claim Gwen sees Morgana and Lancelot and says to Merlin, “We’re driving straight home tonight, so have a good rest of your holiday and I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

Merlin hugs her. “Have fun,” he says, waving to Morgana and Lancelot. They’ve already gotten their suitcases, and Gwen’s, he notices, and he watches them leave feeling sad that the tour is over and sad that he won’t see them for a while but inordinately happy that Morgana has found people she really likes.

He checks his phone. There’s nothing from Arthur, and Merlin’s heart sinks. He hasn’t seen him since they left the hotel that morning, not even at the airport between flights, not that they had much time anyway. A small part of Merlin’s brain suggests that maybe the thing with Arthur was really just a week-long thing and that now it’s over and Arthur will expect that Merlin feels the same and they just won’t see each other again. Maybe Arthur’s even left already. Merlin doesn’t see him at the carousel.

“Merlin!” says Gwaine from behind him. “There you are. I was wondering when you’d get through.” Merlin turns and sees him, and Percival behind him, rolling both their suitcases, which is unsurprising given Percival’s arm size.

“I think Gwen and I were at the back of the line,” Merlin says ruefully, giving Gwaine a hug. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here, I still haven’t seen my suitcase come round.” It could have been lost, he thinks. Probably would be, given his luck.

“Arthur got it,” Percival says. “He’s waiting outside for us.”

“For us?” Merlin asks, confused, because apparently the small part of his brain had become his whole brain while he wasn’t paying attention, and he’s convinced himself Arthur doesn’t want to see him.

“He tried to text you but his phone died,” Percival says, then frowns. “Are you being an idiot again?”

Merlin opens his mouth and Gwaine interjects, “Course he’s being an idiot again.” He grabs Merlin’s arm and half leads, half drags him towards the sliding doors. “Text your parents or whatever and tell them you’re staying with friends tonight.”

Merlin fumbles with his phone to cancel his car service and send said text, and then they’re outside and Arthur is waiting, leaning against his car with his arms folded.

“Merlin was being an idiot,” Percival tells him, taking his and Gwaine’s suitcases to the trunk.

“I wasn’t,” Merlin protests.

“You’re always an idiot,” Arthur says, straightening and pulling Merlin toward him. “It’s all right though, you’re my idiot.”

Merlin starts to tell him off and Arthur kisses him.

“Oi,” says Gwaine, “get a move on you two. We can’t park here all day.”

“There is literally no one waving us on,” Percival points out as Arthur casually devours Merlin’s mouth. “Let them have their moment.”

“They can have their moment when we get to your apartment,” Gwaine gripes.

Arthur bites the inside of Merlin’s lip and whispers, “Do you mind?”

“Mind what,” Merlin gasps, chasing Arthur’s mouth.

“If we stay at Percival’s and my apartment tonight.”

“Eh,” Merlin says, pretending to consider, “not on my bucket list of places to visit before I turn thirty.” Arthur rolls his eyes and smacks Merlin’s ass lightly.

“Fine, go home then,” he says, turning to open the driver door. Merlin grabs his shirt and pulls him back.

“Fuck you,” he says, kissing him again.

“Gladly,” Arthur responds.

“Get a goddamn room,” Gwaine groans. Arthur ends the kiss and sighs.

“Really though, of course I want to come,” Merlin says before Arthur can repeat the question.

“Maybe you won’t tonight, if you’re not careful,” Arthur warns. He kisses Merlin’s ear and whispers, “Let’s see if you can manage not to insult me in the car on the way home,” and then releases Merlin and opens the back door with a smirk.

Merlin grins at him and gets in, already planning five things he can say about Arthur’s driving that will work no matter how Arthur drives. Judging from the way Arthur slams his door shut, the results will be very good.


End file.
